


Opportunity Born

by B_Radley



Series: Gandalf's Way [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Beginnings, Espionage, Family, Gen, Intrigue, Multi, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-23 21:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: A Naboo Queen enlists a Fulcrum, a Spectre, and an Advocate to find a movement's financial and information pipeline.Takes place 8 years after the Fall of the Republic and the Jedi. Just beforeA New Dawn.





	1. Handmaiden's Blues

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an experiment here. A true work in progress. Will update when I can. Know where I am going and basically how to get there, but not how long it will take.
> 
> Of course, if anyone is bored and wants to add their .02 worth. :=)

**Eight Years after the Fall of the Republic**   
**The Outer Rim, near Hutt Space**   
**Shaizan House Vessel Equity, Naboo Registry**

The tiny vessel waits, powered down for an unknown rendezvous. The pilot sits in the cockpit, her eyes closed, her breathing calm.

That cannot exactly be said for her companion, sitting in the navigator’s seat. _Of course, it only means that her heart rate is about two beats faster than mine._

“Dai-Lin, how much longer are we going to wait on them? We are sitting ducks for any of the Queen Slug’s scavengers.” the young woman says. “As long as we need to, dear heart,” she replies. “And for the fifteenth time, my name is Hana. We technically work for the same boss.”

The young Handmaiden has not quite mastered the serenity portion of her training. She rolls her eyes, but manages to catch herself. A nervous grin flows over the dark skin of her features. 

Hana smiles. “Don’t worry, dear. I don’t flay beautiful Handmaidens who roll their eyes at me.” The _Dai-Lin_ , literally, ‘the Big Shot’ of the Noble and Exalted House of Shaizan Finance, reaches over impulsively and kisses the younger woman on the cheek. 

_The much younger woman,_ she thinks ruefully. She hears a snort from Morene’. “Watch it sweetie. May not flay you, but I can still kick your ass in the sparring circle. Even though I am nearly twice your age.”

“That’ll be the day, Granny,” the young Naboo says. She suddenly places her hand over her mouth, a wide-eyed expression on her face. Hana laughs. “Oh, yeah, infant. Being able to do ten handsprings away from your antagonist in the space of five seconds doesn’t exactly spell ‘beating’ someone,” she says.

As she turns her eyes back to the controls, laughter still evident in her eyes and on her lips, she sees the young woman, a young woman already with great power evident in her muscular arms and legs, look at her with something like awe.

 _Still got it, honey,_ she thinks. A brief glance at herself in the reflection of the viewport, at her face with only a few lines of care around her dark, almond-shaped eyes and only blue streaks present in her raven-black hair. Blue streaks that she had put there.

“Why did you choose me, Da-, er, Hana?” the young woman asks. “I am the youngest and least experienced of the Queen’s attendants. You could’ve easily brought one of the twins or even the Chief herself.”

“Storae’ speaks very highly of you, as does the Queen,” Hana says, referring to the Chief Handmaiden. “They thought you were perfect for this job.”

“How so?” she asks, a thunderous expression growing on her face. “I hope it is not because I am expendable,” she said. 

“What the hell? Where the hell did that come from?” Hana asks, her anger sparking.

“Well, I am the youngest. With the least experience.” Hana looks at the overhead viewport. _Damned shinies_. Memories stir as she uses the term from her past, when she was younger, with nearly two dozen pilots and several hundred ground crew as her responsibilities. _All when she was barely older than the gymnast here._

Her response is quiet. “You speak more languages than anyone else. Also, the Queen tells me you have made a study of Hutt crime syndicate offshoots that are trying to make inroads into Naboo. The fact that you grew up in a Human-Gungan enclave may give you better insight into who some of those scumbags are targeting.” She smirks. “Plus, there is the idea that you have mastered some pretty tough and impressive disciplines in hand-to-hand fighting.”

After a moment, the creased forehead on the young woman smoothes as she processes. She nods in acceptance. Her eyes bore into the older woman.

“What exactly are we doing out here, Hana?” Morene’ asks.

 _Good question, sweetie_ , the financier thinks to herself.

~=~=~=~=~=

“We’ve lost some serious information over the last few ten-days, dear,” Senator Riyo Chuchi says. “What kind of information, Riyo?” Hana asks her lawyer. 

“The kind that could have all of us kneeling in front of a wall, or being tortured to death by a interrogator droid,” the Pantoran says matter-of-factly. “As well as others.”

Hana takes this in. She watches her daughter play with a Naboo starfighter in the Senator’s lap. She smiles for a moment, then turns away. “N9, could you take Sosha to another room to get a snack?” she asks the Nanny Droid

“Yes, Mistress,” the expressionless voice says. She sees Sosha about to protest, her near-four-year old mind turning. She looks down her nose at her daughter. There are the beginnings of stubbornness in her green-gold-brown-in-different-light eyes. As she turns her head, there is an instant where her eyes fix in warm green. Hana’s stomach clinches as Riyo whispers something in her tiny ear. The girl giggles, then gets down and walks over to her mother. She tugs her arms around Hana’s waist briefly, then turns to follow the droid.

“She’s getting more like you every day, love,” Riyo says. “Yeah, stubborn,” Hana replies. 

“I was going to say _responsible and loving,_ but we can go with that, if you like,” the politician says with a grin. 

“Yeah, lets,” the Naboo says. She thinks of another with at least the stubborn trait. “Thankfully isn’t showing signs of sociopathy and narcissism like my loving husband,” Hana says. Riyo’s brows knit in worry. “How long are you going to keep up the pretense of a marriage, Hana? I think you have established control of the company enough in the last few years that none of the fossils of the old board could say anything about adultery. Or question her parentage.”

Hana is silent. “I think that I want to have some stability for her, even when he deigns to come home,” she says. 

The excuse sounds lame, even to her own ears. Riyo rolls her eyes skeptically. Hana holds her hands up. “I know. I know. It sounds stupid even to me.” She looks at the door that Sosha had just entered. “Me not divorcing Shaizan gives me an excuse not to contact him.”

Riyo doesn’t have to ask who the pronoun refers to. Certainly not to her wayward husband.

“He would be here in a heartbeat, girl. He is that kind of man.” Hana shakes her head. “No. We had one night. A night of memory and healing, but just one night.” She looks Riyo in the eye. “He is doing what he has to. Protecting.” Her barely discernible Soruna’sh regional accent can be heard, along with the emotion in her voice.

Riyo’s eyes are distant as she thinks of one that he protects. One who protects him, as well. She turns back to the fire. “So what are we going to do about the leak, Dai-lin?” she asks formally. Hana starts and pulls the datapad towards her. She starts to looks at the symbols. Her eyes grow wide as she recognizes one. “Goddamn it,” she says. Without another word, she rises. “Where are you going?” Riyo says, as her shorter legs try to keep up with Hana’s.

Hana doesn’t stop. She turns to look at the politician. “I need some off-the-books help. You still keep in contact with those pirates?”

“The Blood Bone Order? Yeah, why?” Riyo asks. “Oh, no reason,” she says as she stalks to a comm console.

~=~=~=~=~= 

Hana starts awake as something moves into her consciousness. A blinking light and an oscillating alarm. She notices that Morene’ is already alert and letting her hands fly over the console. “Proximity alarm, Hana,” she says. “Big displacement.”

“How big?” Hana muses. “Corvette-class, maybe?”

A large black shadow pulls in close to the small yacht. “Plotting a course to jump out of here.”

“Too late,” Hana says, quietly. As if to confirm her words, there is a lurch felt by both women. She sees the young Handmaiden move to the throttle. She touches her hand. “Don’t, sweetie.” she says quietly. Hana moves to shut down the engine. “We’ll burn up before we can even pull two meters away.”

“We can’t just go down without a fight,” Morene’ says. “Who says we’re going down?” she asks, her voice controlled.

“That thing has ‘pirate’ written all over it, Dai-Lin!” the Handmaiden exclaims.

“Yeah, well, there are pirates, and then there are pirates,” the older woman says with a mysterious smile.

Morene’ sits back. _Great. My boss for this little junket has gone all Jedi on me._ She checks her blaster surreptitiously. _Not that I know what that means,_ she thinks sheepishly. 

She feels the lurching movement stop. A series of noises can be heard on the hull, culminating in a loud bang and the sound of sealing entry tubes. 

Morene’ clinches her teeth as she remembers a conversation with the Chief Handmaiden. _Trust Hana, dear. She knows what she is doing. She is probably the driving force behind keeping the Queen out of the spotlight, so that she can protect Naboo._

As Morene’ sees Hana stand up and walk to the airlock and its entry foyer, she remembers Storae’s parting words.

_She is the sanest person I know._


	2. Fulcrum Is Not Pleased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barroom dancing with the past. With blasters and fists.

The silent watcher does his job. He watches the figure with the tall hood sit in a back corner and sip a nearly full drink. His eyes lock on the vigilant scanning the figure employs over the dozens of bar patrons of varying species and genders. He looks closer at the figure. To most observers, what the watcher can see of her face would be determined to be pleasing to the eye.

More importantly for his purposes, her sharp blue eyes are clear and focused, but she seems to be alone. Waiting for someone.

The watcher is as well. He brings a small device to his lips and speaks into it. He sits back to watch the chaos. A part of him feels remorse for what he has done. The beautiful woman happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He needs to know that when the response comes, it will come swiftly.

So that he can act.

He watches and he waits.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka Tano takes a sip of her Garelian mineral water and makes a face. She pulls her cowl up tighter around her cheeks, to hide the facial markings. She sighs as she shifts her hips on the hard synthwood of the booth. She smiles as she hears a voice in her mind. _There is enough padding there, Runt. You should be comfy enough_. She remembers her rejoinder when the owner of the voice had actually said it. _Are you saying my ass is big, Bait?_

Her smile grows soft as she remembers his sheepish reply. _Never, Ahsoka. It’s a work of art. Or at least that is what my Mando relatives say._ The shared laughter had led to other joys and light. The joy and light of merely holding each other after yet another half-year absence. Of falling asleep together, without one having to stay on watch.

The smile disappears. For about the hundredth time, she looks at her comm. She thinks of hitting enter on the console, to send the call to the commcode. The date blinks accusingly at her. One day before the eighth instance of Empire Day. Eight years and no closer to bringing the Empire down.

No closer to organizing into a viable military force. Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, Draq’ Bel Iblis, even his son Garm - not known as the most patient of men, had all said it would take time.

Time apparently slowing to a crawl. Time spent building, then watching it fall down around her, at least lately.

Two cells had been compromised in the last six months. Cells no more than a few months old. While the numbers of cells had grown in the last few years, much more than even three years ago, when she and her hunt-brother had reconnected, they still could not afford to lose more.

At least the segregation protocols were working. There had not been a cascade of falling cells, and the two that fell had been compromised months apart, and hundreds of parsecs.

She shakes her head. Her thoughts on the date had not been precipitated by thought of the creeping certitude of rebellion.

Or lack of certitude. Instead, it had been initiated by the thoughts of that same ‘Corellian concern’ and their connection.

Today, the day before Empire Day was his thirty-third name day.

Since she and Bryne Covenant, a ex-Jedi once known as Taliesin Croft, had reconnected, they had only celebrated two name days together. One, her twenty-second, celebrated on a desert world of scavengers with whiskey, jerky, and ration-paste. The other had been his thirtieth. When responsibility owed to his world could have separated them from fighting together.

Her quarter-century had come and gone a month or so ago, while she had been ensconced in a tiny attic, vetting a possible new cell.

Her Force sense sends a lance of awareness through her skull. She looks up, just in time for a uniformed Imperial naval officer and a squad of stormtroopers to walk through the door. She instantly comes even more alert than she had been with the edge from her solitude at the forefront.

Her eyes widen with a sort of recognition as she locks onto the face of the officer. A face with its regulation Imperial disdain.

But one familiar to her from her time in the Clone Wars. From her second campaign. She sees a Republic naval officer laughing with her over hot chocolate, in a rare respite from their duties and the pain of the war. Laughter and love while discussing the officer’s beloved younger sister.

Ahsoka begins to calmly scan the room for escape options.

There are not many, as other troopers, both the fully armored Stormtroopers, and lighter armored Naval troopers take up positions in ones and twos at the other two exits.

She closes her eyes and reaches out.

The entire wall of bottles and glasses behind the bar falls to the floor in an earsplitting crash. Everyone in the bar turns to look. The operative makes her move, with the inborn athleticism of her people.

Athleticism aided with a little help from a mystical friend. She bowls over the fleetie standing at the furthest entrance. A touch of the Force and the woman’s blaster no longer works. She grins as she remember’s Croft’s patient teachings to a roomful of younglings.

Including her. She starts to increase her speed to move through the back exit of the building.

A feminine voice cuts through her hearing. “Halt!” comes from behind her.

A blaster bolt where her head had just been punctuates the cry.

~=~=~=~=~=

Commander Rae Sloane curses as her shot misses the figure. She turns to the troops in the bar. “Go, dammit. Get after him. I want him stopped!”

She follows her own command and charges for the exit, managing to step on the Marine lying on the deck. _Stupid jarhead,_ she thinks. She rolls her eyes. _You might want to rephrase that, Rae, my dear. For the next two months, you are one as well._

She curses again, this time directing her vitriol at her detailer, who had sold her on the idea of enhancing her career in command of a Marine security battalion on some Outer Rim hole.

A hole with a sector’s Imperial Currency Reserve. Just after two others had been relieved of a great deal of hard currency.

She can just see the cloaked and hooded figure at the furthest reaches of her vision in the twisting, narrow streets of the small town.

A part of her realizes that she has left her stormtrooper detachment behind. Her own fleet troopers are nowhere to be found. She pushes forward, recalling her cross-country honors from her childhood on Ganthel. In the time when she could participate in sports.

 _Less patting yourself on the back, Rae,_ her sister’s beloved voice says.

 _Okay, Jae,_ she automatically replies. As if her sister was not eight years dead in the stars around Coruscant.

In the back of her mind, she wonders about the anonymous commtext she had received. Telling her it might be worth her while to be in that bar with a few of her armored friends.

She listens to the earpiece of her comm. Apparently other detachments had received similar hints to other locations.

No others were chasing anyone, though. Her eyes widen with realization. She keys her comm. “All units move to the Reserve. Move to the Reserve, now!”

She debates about turning away from her pursuit. Rae realizes she can no longer see her pursuer. She stops, breathing hard, but not panting. She shakes her head and starts to turn away. As she takes a step back towards her troops, she feels air displace around her.

She turns to see a dark gray blur striding towards her. The blur leaps, the booted feet striking Rae’s shoulders. The figure follows her to the ground. Rae twists and sweeps her attacker’s legs from under her. The thug lands on their ass, a muffled ‘oof’ sounding as air explodes from lungs.

An exclamation with a decidedly feminine sound. The woman leaps to her feet after only a half second on her rear. Powerful orange arms in bracers come up, when the sleeves of the robe fall. She assumes the stance. The Imperial gets the impression of a high hood, and powerful blue eyes from the full face concealment. Rae feints, then ducks under her opponent’s swing.

The second feint from the opponent connects with Rae’s jaw. Her breath explodes from her lungs as a third straight punch connects with her abdomen. Rae doubles over, but quickly explodes upward with a high kick.

The woman reels back, but Rae sees her place her left foot back to maintain her balance.

Stars explode in Sloane’s head as the woman’s forehead connects with the officer’s. Rae realizes she is on the ground, staring up at the sky. The Imperial tries to move, but cannot, as it seems she has forgotten where her legs were. She notices the woman hesitating before fleeing, looking down at the young officer. She looks the woman in the eyes. She sees an odd light in the woman’s eyes.

Something like regret. Rae strains and turns on her side. She shakes her head as blood streams from her forehead. When she looks up, the woman is gone. Rae slumps back down to the ground as she hears the booted feet of her reinforcements.

She feels the bile rise in her throat. The troopers arrive just as she heaves into the dirt.

~=~=~=~=~=

A ratty looking tooka cat watches as Ahsoka vomits into a corner. The tooka is not impressed that she is Fulcrum, intelligence whiz of a nascent Rebellion. A sharp meow cuts through Ahsoka’s senses. The tooka rubs against her side.

 _Might be more impressed now_ , Ahsoka thinks. She reaches down and scratches the tooka's ears. A low purr sounds from the animal. In a lightning move, the tooka swipes at her hand, then runs away. Ahsoka sighs at the three new wounds on her arm. _Above the bracer, of course._

“Typical,” she whispers, thinking of her love-hate relationship with the two stray tookas that Dani Faygan’s adopted daughter had brought home. She reaches up and touches the single _akul_ tooth in her headdress.

Ahsoka wipes her face, the bile, snot, and blood staining the sleeve of the robe. Blood is oozing from her nose, and lips; streaming from her forehead. She stands and pulls a small flask. She manages to smile as the whiskey burns down her throat.

As well as the lip wound. She looks at the flask for an instant. A flask she had lifted when she had last seen Covenant.

Months ago. She puts her forehead against the wall. _Why the hell didn’t you just use the Force and get it over with?_ She opens her eyes. _Is it because of what her sister meant to the owner of this flask? What she meant to you, the one time you met her?  
_

She straightens and tries to force the memories away.

She turns and starts moving as fast as she can to the port.

Ten minutes later, she is standing before an older CR-90 in Corporate Alliance colors.

The Captain of the vessel greets her stiffly at the ground elevator. He eyes her disheveled appearance with what looks like disdain. “Fulcrum,” he says. A brief smile quirks one side of his mouth. “Let’s get out of here, Captain Sato,” she says, not bothering with niceties.

He nods. “What about your meet?”

“It was a bust. Might’ve been a setup. Stormies crashed it,” she says. His eyes narrow with concern. “Once we’re away, there is a priority transmission for you.” His next words warm her, unaccountably.

“From Advocate.”


	3. The Queen Commands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dancing. With words and whiskey.

Riyo Chuchi watches as the CR-90 erupts from hyperspace. It rotates and moves to the nondescript diplomatic vessel. She feels the slight lurch as the two ships join at the airlocks. She closes her eyes at the sounds of depressurization and pressurization behind the metal hatch of the airlock.

A small ‘ding’ and the door slides open. She opens her eyes and smiles at the tall figure standing in the ‘lock. She can see the smile in the bright blue eyes over the cowl. “Fulcrum,” she says. “Advocate,” comes the clear, confident, high voice of her memory. The operative falls into step beside the Senator as they walk to the small conference room. Once behind the door, they fall into each other’s arms, holding tightly to each other with an easy familiarity. 

Riyo moves her hands ups and slides the hood off of Ahsoka’s montrals. Her hands move to the operative’s cheeks as the younger woman tugs at the cowl. As the garment falls, she places her forehead against that of the shorter woman. Riyo’s eyes soften as she sees the flinch. 

She moves back and runs her fingers gently over the bruise on Fulcrum’s forehead markings, then down to the slight amount of blood under the distinctive nose and on the full lips. She kisses Fulcrum on the right cheek, the one uninjured spot, it seems, on her face. “Force, girl, what the hell happened?”

“Meeting got disrupted. Had to do some disruption of my own.” 

“Did you take on an entire trooper legion yourself?”

Ahsoka grins, her eyes looking innocently at the ceiling. “Nah. Just some fleeties and their commander. You should see the other girl.”

Riyo rolls her eyes. She has given up worrying about her friend of many years. Her eyes grow mischievous. “Pity I don’t have a room on this bucket. Maybe ‘Jana’ could make an appearance for a conjugal visit.” Ahsoka Smirks at the mention of one of her cover names. _Jana Roshti,_ a young layabout who is happily married above her station to the sitting Senator from Pantora. 

Much to the chagrin of the current Chairman’s son, Ion Paponoida. “Sounds like I don’t have a lot of time. Plus, I am fairly certain that Her Majesty the Queen of Naboo would not take too kindly to a nooner in her audience chamber.”

“You would be right, Fulcrum,” comes a high, regal voice from the door. Kylantha, elected Queen of the Naboo smiles slightly as she takes in the reunion before her. “Much as I would love to give you both time to relax together, I fear we have a problem on our hands. A problem that could cause the Rebellion some serious issues with their information retrieval.”

Ahsoka nods. “I am at your disposal, your Majesty, but let us be clear. I am here for the movement’s sake. Not Naboo’s, not yours. If the two intersect, I am fine. But if they diverge, I will go where I need to.”

Kylantha’s regal face remains expressionless. “I see that you believe the propaganda about me, my dear. That I am an Imperial puppet. That is not very helpful. I am quite sure my Handmaidens would have no problem throwing you off of my ship, if I don’t like any of your solutions.”

Ahsoka doesn’t rise, but calmly replies. “Your Majesty, I have heard of how well-trained your Handmaidens are. I have fought with a few by my side. But I doubt that I would go anywhere that I didn’t want to.”

Riyo rolls her eyes as two pairs of icy blue eyes gaze at one another. She finally steps between them. “I could let this little pissing-match go on for a while, or we could sit down and discuss what we need done.” Her own golden eyes burn at the two. “Which do you think is more productive?”

There is a leaden silence in the room. Riyo is certain that Ahsoka is thinking of her friend and handler, who nearly died trying to protect this Queen’s predecessor from an assassination by the vaunted 501st Legion of Stormtroopers.

The same battalion that had stood behind her in battle when she was much younger. 

Kylantha sees something similar in her mind’s eye. A beautiful world laid to waste by Imperial choices. 

A world kept whole by her choices.

Riyo smiles. _But still in the fight._

Her friend nods. She turns and bows her head slightly at the Queen. Kylantha smiles. “You are right, as always, dear Riyo.” She looks at Ahsoka. “I am sorry, Fulcrum. I know your responsibilities to the larger galaxy. Just know that mine is to the tiny world I call home.”

After a moment, Ahsoka nods. They walk fully into the room and sit at the small table.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka watches as the Queen pours a brightly colored liquid into two glasses, after Ahsoka declined. Her experience before with some of the Naboo wines had done nothing for her, except tear her system up. She pours herself a glass of water and waits until Riyo and Kylantha have completed the rituals of sipping and nodding appreciatively.

She is tempted to bring out the small flask of Whyren’s.

Kylantha contemplates her wine. She finally looks up, directly at Ahsoka. “As you know, I have had to tread a fine line to keep Naboo from being totally occupied and crushed under Palpatine’s heel.” She takes a sip, makes a face. She stands and pours the wine into a flower pot. “I could use something stronger. I have always hated welcome-wines.”

Riyo smirks at Ahsoka. Without a word, Ahsoka reaches into her jacket and pulls the flask, only recently filled. She opens it and takes a sip, passing it to the Queen. She tentatively takes a sip, then smiles. “Thank you, Fulcrum,” she says. “That will do it.”

“I have been aided in this by a series of fortuitous circumstances. A few years ago, Shaizan Financial, the Exalted and Noble House, through the stupidity of the current leader, was involved in a conspiracy. A conspiracy to assassinate two Senators and plunge two worlds into war. We were able to wrest control of the House through his wife, who also happened to be my Captain of the Royal Guard.”

“Shaizan is one of the oldest Financial Houses in the galaxy. It is the foundation, indeed, the cornerstone of our economy.” She pauses as the flask comes around again. She stops and looks out at the stars through the port. “As such, it also has established one of the best and most far-reaching private intelligence networks in the galaxy. One that is not well known.”

“With the help of Riyo, here, we have managed to establish some very significant networks that have provided some important leads for your network, and others, especially the Corellians.”

“Your Majesty, should I be knowing this? If I were caught…..?” Ahsoka starts. Kylantha smiles. “My dear, if you were caught, with the things that you know, this would be a drop in the bucket.” Riyo looks away at the thought of this. She looks at the inside of the warrior’s bracer, at a tiny capsule wedged into the strap.

A capsule, that once broken in the mouth, would explode a Togruta’s heart, almost instantly. Riyo knows that this is only the backup. If Ahsoka were in danger of being taken, her captors would pay a heavy price, and would be forced to end her for their own self-preservation. 

“So what does this have to do with me?” Ahsoka asks. She sees Riyo’s distressed expression, pats her hand gently. “Apparently, Hana, the _Dai-Lin_ of the House learned that there was a leak somewhere. She apparently contacted some pirate friends of Riyo’s and took off with nothing but a young Handmaiden to watch her back for the Outer Rim.”

Ahsoka looks at Riyo. “Let me guess. The ‘feared’ Blood Bone Order?”

“Yep. Tried to talk her out of it, but she wanted to solve it herself, after I told her about the leaks. She saw something on a datapad that set her off.”

“Have you figured out what it was?”

“Nope. I have Ano working on the code in the pad. She managed to slice into it.” Ahsoka smiles at the thought of Riyo’s antisocial slicer, Ano Lessi.

Riyo looks at the Queen. “You need to tell her the rest.”

“Right after she took off for the Outer Rim, her daughter, Sosha disappeared from Soruna estate.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen. “The nanny-droid was disabled with a code word. We have been able to track the movements of a flyer that was near the estate. It made for Theed and the spaceport.”

“Do we think that the leaks and her disappearance are connected?”

Both women are silent. Ahsoka stands up. “What the hell are you not telling me?”

“Fantos Shaizan. Hana’s husband has gone off of the grid as well. The exact same time that the girl disappeared.”

Ahsoka crosses her arms, waiting. “He was seen on the Smuggler’s Moon. Nar Shaddaa, a few weeks ago. Around the time that the leaks started.”

“He is now on Ganthel. We have a sneaking suspicion that he may have the girl. That Hana realized that he or someone working for him was responsible for the leaks,” Riyo says. “The leaks that may be responsible for two of your cells getting rolled up.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flash blue fire. “What the hell were you doing with that kind of info, anyway?”

Riyo stands up. “They didn’t have any information on cells. That is just the thing. The leaks were of information on something entirely unrelated. Something about the Imperial Currency Reserves on the worlds that the cells were on.”

They see a look come over the young woman’s features, a look gone in an instant. She turns away for a moment. When she turns back, the look of determination, the look that Riyo has come to recognize, even when they first knew each other as young Padawan and young Senator, is present.

Somewhere there is a brick wall waiting for a pair of montrals to be shoved into it.

“I am going to the Outer Rim. Is there anyone that you can send to Ganthel? Or do I need to bring the Corellians in?”

Kylantha smiles. “We have someone in mind. We just need some off-the-books transport.”

Ahsoka is thoughtful for a moment. A smile flows to her features. “I can help with that. A new operative with a nice ship. She has only come into the network in the last year or so.”

She takes the flask from the Pantoran, then tips, and drains it. She looks at it ruefully then replaces it in her jacket. “I will contact her. Get her started to meet your team.” She nods at the Queen, then reaches down to kiss Riyo’s cheek.

Kylantha stares at the closed hatch. She turns to the Senator. “Do you think that you should’ve told her about the little girl? About the possibility of her parentage?”

Riyo is quiet for a moment. “No. That is not mine to tell.”

Both women are silent as they think of connections.


	4. Amateur Night in the Colonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of ghosts discover they still need practice at being rebel spies.

The young pilot watches the catwalk above the engine construction bay. Her green eyes narrow as she waits for the contact to show.

This is the third such night in the massive bay, waiting on a contact that will give her ninety percent draft blueprints of a new type of Stardestroyer engine.

One that increases the efficiency of the engines a thousandfold.

Her lips purse. _The contact will not exactly give the designs to her._

For about the millionth time, Hera Syndulla touches the pocket on her flightsuit where the credit chip rests.

Still there.

She shifts her knees on the observation gondola, wondering if she will recognize the contact. Fulcrum had told her that the contact was very skittish and paranoid, but the information could be mined for a flaw.

They had never come close to having this type of information on Kuat-designed ship. For some strange reason, the designers had chosen a Fondor-based firm for this particular draft.

Hera had not questioned her assignment. She knew that she was relatively new to the network. She had a certain amount of proving herself to do.

Fulcrum had never hinted at any proof needed. The Togruta woman, probably only a few years older than Hera’s eighteen years, had merely smiled a serene smile and assigned her the job.

The young Twi’lek got the impression that Fulcrum had experience of performing jobs way above her age during her life. The experience shown in the woman’s blue eyes told her story.

Hera shakes her head as she thinks of her own story. She grits her teeth as she hears her father’s voice. _Your place is here, my daughter. With your father. Taking your mother’s place at my side in fighting for Ryloth._

She ignores the tiny voice in her head. It had done no good to articulate the words to her father. _Ryloth’s freedom will be won out in the galaxy, Father._

Hera hears a noise on the catwalk. A dark figure walks out from the service hatch into the dim light. Hera tightens her hood around her face. She checks the small blaster in her ankle holster. She remembers the dry voice of her contact. Please be careful, Spectre. You are good. You have nothing to prove.

She looks around to see if there is anyone else. She touches the earphone on her flight helmet. She smiles at the sound.

She rises to her feet, then drops lightly to the catwalk. The figure turns. Hera can tell nothing about her contact. The contact doesn’t have any of the characteristics of a female, but that means nothing. The contact is taller than she is, as well as broader in its form fitting black coverall and hood combination. A masked helmet completes the mystery.

“You have my payment?” comes a heavily modulated voice. “You have my information?” she responds.

The figure stares at her. He reaches with two fingers to a pouch on the front of the utility belt. The contact draws out what appears to be a datacard.

Hera nods and reaches into her flightsuit pocket. She feels the hard plastic of the credit chip through her flying gloves. She stops as she realizes that the ocular windows of the mask are locked on the hand reaching into the pocket. She stops. The eyes, or at least their coverings remain locked.

Whenever Hera had sensed something not right, a tiny buzz had always, without fail begun where here left lekku spread outward from her skull. Nothing like the Force, just an old-fashioned bit of pilot’s intuition. The first time she had felt it, an old Y-wing bomber had dropped from the sky in the front yard of her home. A dead pilot, an empty ejection seat in the turret, and a battered, grumpy astromech had been the only things it had contained.

The second time had been when her father had walked into her presence, his eyes sad. When she had noted that her mother was not at his side.

The buzz has grown in intensity in the last sixty seconds. The credit chip starts to descend back into the pocket. Her eyes widen as she sees the contact’s hands raise and come together.

Blue, green, and red energy streaks appear between the fingers. The figure begins to move towards her. “Give me the chip and you won’t get hurt, girlie,” the modulated voice intones. “This won’t hurt your pretty face one bit. I might get a little extra cash out of the deal,” it finishes. “Even though you are kind of scrawny.”

Great. One of those who believes all Twi’lek women are money-makers. Hera examines her options. She can only hope that her partner is actually listening to the conversation.

And not doing something to benefit only himself. Like upgrading his sensors from the state of the art software on the ship. She pulls the chip out. She gently waves it in the air. She smiles as she sees the eyes of the mask track every tiny movement. She makes a move to transfer the money to her left hand.

“No, dearie,” the figure says. “Keep it in your right hand. And don’t make any sudden moves to that blaster on your ankle. I will end you if I have to.”

 _Okay_. _Fair_ _enough_. She continues to move the card in circles. She hears the beginning of a brief, familiar noise. “Stop doing that, tailhead,” the contact says, a hint of irritation growing in the modulation. “Why, ‘dearie’?” she says. “You afraid I am going to do this?”

With a swift movement, she throws the credit chip at the contact’s head. She crabs to the right, her left hand going to the back of her belt, as the contact’s attention is drawn to the chip.

Only for an instant. The small Twi’lek blaster, a twin to the one on her leg, appears in her left hand.

Just in time to go flying out of her hand as the contact lunges downward for the chip and grabs both of her legs with the stun gloves. A lance of fire travels up her legs as she tumbles off of her feet. She kicks with both booted feet to the chest, hearing an ‘oomph’ from the voice modulator.

The fire ceases on her legs as he disconnects. She fumbles for her blaster as she tries to climb to her feet. Her eyes track the credit chip; the small piece of plastic that contains about two hundred thousand reasons for Fulcrum to place her in charge of cleaning her blockade runner, if it is lost.

_With a toothbrush._

They track just in time to see the attacker kick it off of the catwalk as he pulls a blaster. Both of them lunge for the chip. Hera grunts in pain as her head smacks into the contact’s helmet.

The modulated voice rises in crescendo as a scream is torn from him. Hera’s voice joins it as electricity runs from his body to hers.

Electricity from a small orange droid hovering above the catwalk, chortling with glee as he causes pain. As she closes her eyes, she misses the twin cables being reeled in. One from the air below, the other from the direct victim of the shockprod.

Her eyes snap open, just in time to see the contact tumble from the catwalk in his lunge for the money. “No!” she screams as she ignores the protesting muscles and nerve endings to grab a piece of the attacker’s trousers.

She feels herself being dragged towards the edge. She scrabbles with her feet to find her purchase.

She finds none.

Her life is moving fast towards its conclusion as she is dragged to edge by the bulk of her attacker. Her eyes widen as she sees the numerous conduits and beams that her head could connect with.

She hears a roaring as Chopper’s thrusters slide into overdrive. She feels a metal band circle her ankle, as her forward motion slows, then stops.

Hera grinds her teeth as she tries to hold onto the attacker. She curses as she hears the beginnings of a ripping noise.

Her burden is suddenly lighter as the trouser leg’s synthetic fibers give way. She makes a noise of despair as she watches the figure tumble.

There is a sickening crunch as the body strikes several of the obstructions in its way.

As it tumbles out of sight.

Along with Hera’s future in the burgeoning Rebellion against the Empire. She rests her head on the deck of the catwalk. She hears Chopper land and roll towards her. The droid leans over and looks at the depths of the engine construction bay. A wah-wah sound projects from his speaker.

“Thanks, Master of the Obvious,” Hera says, an edge to her normally melodious voice. She looks up to a louder roaring as her ship flares in, its ramp opening. She slumps as she sees Fulcrum in her mind’s eye flying the ship, her beautiful home, away, leaving her and Chop on the dock.

Her eyes tear for only a moment. Another vision in her mind affects her more. The vision of her father shaking his head, his eyes oozing with self-righteous certitude.

She rises. “Come on. Guess it is time to face the music.”

She doesn’t hear the droid’s reply as her comm begins to beep and flash. A signal in a particular pattern. She sighs. Fulcrum.

If she had heard Chopper’s reply, her eyes would’ve narrowed at the self-satisfied nature of that particular sound.

Self-satisfied as he contemplates two items stored in small compartments on his blocky body _._


	5. The Dai-Lin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates and their family. A financier finds out their worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting back to this. Got a better idea of the direction. Will try to update weekly.
> 
> Thanks for all that stick with it.

Hana Yung-Shaizan looks down at the young Handmaiden’s unconscious form in the small cabin. _Well, at least I know her weakness._

_Listening to instructions._

She smirks. _Not like anyone else I know._

Certain senior officers of the Imperial Navy might use that phrasing. They had over the tables of Captain’s Mast. A Twi’lek walks in, her cerulean features marked by an eyepatch over her right eye. The remaining eye gazes at her, appraisingly. It crinkles with amusement as she looks over the crumpled figure on the deck. Without a word, the pirate kneels beside Morene’. Her eye softens as she brings a cloth from her trouser pocket. Three water bottles appear from her jacket. She smiles and hands one to Hana, who takes it.

The Dai-Lin is struck by the tenderness with which the woman wipes the Naboo’s face. Hana smirks as she sees the fading bruise under the pirate’s hazel eye.

Several of the pirate crewmembers had felt the wrath of her tiny protector. Even after Hana had told her to stop. One crewmember, a Nikto, had made the mistake of shoving Hana. A Nikto who had not apparently gotten the memo about their ‘captives.’

A Nikto who had been carried out by his comrades, clutching his groin.

Hana is not as familiar with Nikto anatomy, but the groans and whining as he left indicated that there might be something important in that area.

A heavyset Tholothian walks in, a cut from a side kick to his head just under headdress. He smiles gently at Hana. The Dai-Lin remembers that both the Twi’lek and the older Tholothian had tried to calm both sides down.

Just before a tall Pantoran woman, her face bare of familial tattoos, had walked in, drawn her blaster and fired stun bolts into the group of combatants.

She hears more footsteps. She looks up. The same Pantoran leans against the sill of the hatch.

“Hello, Dai-Lin,” the woman says. “Think we might have the measuring over with?” Lassa Rhayme asks.

~=~=~=~=~=

Hana watches as Rhayme pours a healthy slug of Tevraki Maroon in the glass in front of her. She closes the bottle and places it on the sideboard. She walks over and sits on the couch in the small alcove. Hana looks around the comfortable cabin. Her eyebrows raise as she sees old scars that are barely covered by newer paint. Scars that could only be made by weapons fire and some sort of bladed weapon.

 _Or by a combination of both_. Her eyes widen as she thinks of what could have caused them.

She feels a pair of bronze eyes gazing at her. She swings around and returns the look. “What, Captain?” Hana asks.

“Wondering what the hell Riyo Chuchi is paying a barge-load of credits for me to take a fancy Naboo money-lord to the Smuggler’s Moon and drop her off.” She grins. “Ain’t exactly a paradise for rich folks.”

“I ain’t your everyday rich folks,” Hana says. Lassa takes in the battered flight jacket; the DC-17 in a shoulder holster just visible under the garment. The gold wings embroidered on the name patch. Her own name and the numerals ‘00’ next to the callsign.

The identifier of the Commander, Air Group of a Judicial and Republic Navy capital ship.

“No. I guess you are not. Z-95s?” the Pantoran asks.

“Y-Wings originally. Strike squadrons, then everything,” comes the reply. She sees Lassa’s eyes grow soft with apparent memory.

Lassa smiles. “Friend of mine swore by those sleds. She used one up until the damned thing nearly fell apart.” She looks away—perhaps overcome by those memories. She shakes her head, noticing that Hana is watching her.

She allows Lassa the memories.

For the moment.

“We have been noticing some data loss in some hidden files. Files that contain some important information to—.” She stops for a moment. She looks Lassa in the eye. “To some people that you have helped before. People who could die because of what has been lost.”

Lassa’s expression grows thunderous. “Why the fuck didn’t you safeguard the information better?” she asks. Hana can see her thinking of some of those people she has aided.

Hana takes a drink. “I have only been in charge for a few years,” she says. “My husband was the Dai-Lin before he nearly ran the company into the ground, dabbling with spice-smugglers and corrupt politicians. There might be some remnants from his rule. We are doing our best to cull them, but it has been hard.”

Lassa calms as she listens.

“We don’t know how this info got out,” Hana continues. “The leak was identified as innocuous, initially. We tried to trace it. Then we realized that there was more important information buried in there. Information about cells. By the time that we traced it, a couple of cells had been rolled up.”

Lassa and she lapse into silence. Hana looks at her. “We traced one part of the signal packet to Nar Shaddaa. That is why I am headed there. I think that one of our slicers may be able to get me the identifier—to make contact and get me in, so I can get the info and get out.”

“Sounds risky, dear,” Lassa says. She grins. “I may have to charge extra to watch your ass on a Hutt world.”

Hana remains unsmiling. “Don’t really need you to watch my ass. I can take care of myself.” She grins. “Plus I have my bodyguard,” she says.

Lassa matches her grin. “I think that I would put your ‘short help’ up against anyone,” she says. She sobers.

“It is going to be tough, Dai-Lin,” she says. “Hutt worlds might have a bit more risk than Theed’s court.”

Hana stands up angrily. “What? Want to get more money out me? Have you ever thought that maybe you could do something out of altruism? Out of trying to fight the darkness in the galaxy? I can’t believe that Riyo Chuchi deals with such a goddamned mercenary.”

Lassa lets her rant. When she runs down, Lassa replies. “You don’t know me, dear, so I will let this go, without spacing your pretty ass.” She pours herself another shot, ignoring Hana’s empty glass. “Some of us can’t afford to be altruistic. My crew, who I regard as my family, cannot eat altruism. I have known many people who have fought against the darkness, as you call it.”

Hana sees her eyes grow sad. “Only a handful of them are still alive. Yes, I am a mercenary. There are only two people in the universe—two people who are fighting against that darkness, who I would do anything for. Without charging a demi-credit.” Her eyes soften. “Because I love them. They are part of my crew. The only family I acknowledge.”

Hana sits. “Point taken, Captain,” she says. “But we are coming close to a time when we all have to choose sides,” she says quietly.

“I know, Hana,” Lassa says. “Believe me, I know.”

Hana smiles. “Besides. I think that if you were to try to space me, my bodyguard might have something to say about that,” she says, looking up. Both women smile as Morene’, Handmaiden of Naboo walks in, a thunderous expression on her face.

~=~=~=~=~=

As soon as the two Naboo leave, Lassa sits. She sips her whiskey as she thinks about what Hana had said. She thinks of a conversation that she and one of those two people she had mentioned to the Dai-Lin had. The last time they had seen each other. Almost a lifetime ago, in her mind.

Only about a year ago, in actuality.

She looks over at the bed. She recalls her thoughts when the Dai-Lin had spoken of Y-Wings. Of a young woman and a battered, snarky astromech flying around the galaxy, trying to build a fight against darkness in one of those ‘sleds’.

Her eyes tear as she thinks of that same young huntress, the Fulcrum of a movement’s hopes, lying next to her in the bed, her head pillowed on Lassa’s shoulder. She remembers them both trying to bring their respirations back to normal. A session of light and sensation after they both had nearly died.

“Ahsoka,” she gasped. “You can’t be doing things like that. You needed backup.”

Fulcrum was silent. “Yeah, I know. I misjudged the jump. But Covenant had another job that he and his crew had to do. I don’t trust many people. It is why I asked you to help,” she finished.

“You know that we love you, right?” Lassa said. “The crew and I?”

Ahsoka could only nod in reply.

“We voted to help you,” Lassa finished. “But the whole crew comes first.”

“Lassa, I would never ask—“ Ahsoka started, her head coming up from the pirate’s skin.

“I know, dear. I just have to balance what you—and Covenant need—against their needs. I can’t get fully involved in your fight.”

Ahsoka is quiet. She reached over and kissed the pirate. “I know. I know that my people have paid you for individual jobs, but I don’t know if we can pay you full time.” She put her head down, as fatigue came over her.

Lassa heard a low mumbling as the younger woman fell asleep.

“I’ll think of something.”

Lassa curses as she remembers Ahsoka’s words.

A lifetime ago.

In their world.


	6. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera is given a mission. A father and daughter on the run.

Hera Syndulla hears the pressurization as the _Ghost_ seals itself to the battered CR-90. As she waits for the process to complete, she turns and places her forehead against the nearest bulkhead and closes her eyes.

She thinks of her failure on Fondor. Of the loss of both the data on the engines and the credit chip.

She feels a small metal pincer on the back of her flight suit. Patting her on the back. She raises her head from the metal and looks down at Chop. She smiles, briefly.

“Thanks, buddy. At least I’ll still have you,” she says.

+Yeah. You’re getting the better end of the deal.+

_Annnnnd there goes the warm feelings_. “Thanks, you little asshole.”

+Anytime, Captain.+

She feels Chop turn around and trundle off, the squeaky motivator on his left arm assembly keeping a counterpoint to his continuing complaining about his lot in life. Including a stanza about ungrateful meatbags.

She hears an extra line that she doesn’t understand. +Ungrateful meatbags who don’t check their belt pouches.+

Hera unconsciously straightens as the light comes on over the airlock. She takes a deep breath. The door opens.

The tall young Togruta woman that she knows as Fulcrum stands in the airlock. Hera looks into her blue eyes. Once again, she is struck by the power of those eyes, of all that they had apparently seen for one so young.

Fulcrum wears a loose scarf around her lower lekku, but Hera can still see the slight twitches.

She doesn’t know Togruta lekku language that well, having only met a few. But she can see that Fulcrum is apparently pressed for time.

Not so pressed for time that she can’t give Hera a careful, but sincere smile.

“Hello, Spectre,” she says in her clear voice. “It is very good to see you.”

“And you, Fulcrum,” Hera replies.

“How did it go on Fondor?” Fulcrum asks.

Hera looks down. “It was a set up. I don’t think they had any information for us. I think that they just wanted the money and thought I might be an easy mark.” She closes her eyes as she sees the contact’s body striking every level on the way down. “I wasn’t so easy,” she whispers.

Fulcrum nods with understanding. Hera cannot look her in the eye. “I know, Spectre. It is never easy to have to be that hard.” In spite of the circular words, Hera knows that Fulcrum is referring to killing someone.

“It is you or them, Spectre. Don’t forget that.” Fulcrum’s eyes grow harder. She waits.

Hera grits her teeth as she prepares to come clean. As she slumps, she feels her rear belt pouch cover catch on her flight suit. _I could’ve sworn I closed that._

Her eyes widen as she remembers Chopper’s cryptic binary. They widen and then narrow. She reaches in and pulls out the small plastic chip, a chip that had not been there this morning.

_I don’t know whether to space the little turd or hug him._

She starts to pass the credit chip to Fulcrum, whose expression is calm.

Save for a very full and noticeable Smirk. She holds up a bronze hand. “Keep it. No time. Sorry I have to run, but I am short on time. I am transmitting some coordinates. You need to rendezvous with a ship, take on some passengers and get them to Ganthel.” Her eyes lock with Hera’s. “You are transport, but you may have to help them with a retrieval op. An important one.”

She checks her chronometer. “Let’s get moving. We can’t hang out here too long.” A brilliant, warm smile flows across her beautiful features. “Good luck, sweetie. May the Force be with you.”

Hera is barely able to return the greeting as she registers the unfamiliar endearment and expression. She looks and Fulcrum is back through the airlock.

Hera slumps against the bulkhead again, as she contemplates what Chop had given her.

Another chance.

+=+=+=+=+=

The man once known as the _Dai-Lin_ , or the ‘big shot’ in an obscure Naboo trade dialect, sits and sips mineral water.

Ordinarily, his drink of choice would be a fine Toniray cocktail, a nod to his family’s Alderaani heritage. But his new ‘partner’s’ presence demanded something softer than normal. He smiles as he looks down at her, quietly playing some sort of educational game on her datapad. Every so often, she reaches down and sips her drink—some sort of fruity carbonated concoction that the server-droid had come up with.

He shakes his head. This particular establishment doesn’t get a lot of children through its doors, being a private club.

He smirks. _At least I am not drinking Juma Juice, he thinks. Or at least the non-alcoholic version it had evolved into._

The ex-financier sobers as he thinks of what has led him here to this point. His own connections with a shadowy criminal. His subsequent unmasking and arrest—at the behest of his wife.

He closes his eyes as he sees the beautiful features of his wife, her anger at him palpable as she wrested control of his family’s concern from him.

Beautiful features overlaid with those of the ISB agent who had shoved him into the connections. An ISB agent with her own shadowy connections to a certain family name.

A family name now extinct on Naboo, as well as most other Mid-Rim and Core worlds.

He looks down at the little girl. She looks up at him, gives him a careful smile.

His heart melts as he sees the reminders. The reminders of his wife, who he had loved above all else. Not as a possession as she thought, but as something pure. Something heroic.

Perhaps still the wrong reason to love her.

A woman with her own life, her memories, her pain. A life that had nothing to do with the arrogant money-makers and politicians of the circle that he had grown into.

He smiles as he sees those reminders. The questioning cant to her head. The speed with which she had manipulated the game, her hand-eye coordination almost preternatural.

The traits of an ace pilot for the Republic, and for a short time, Imperial navies.

The smile turns into a grin as he sees a less-than-natural indicator of her mother.

A defiant blue streak dyed in the diagonal through the middle of the dark hair. An affectation by his wife that had strengthened her endearment to him. In spite of the shock of those in his circle.

The sight of Sosha’s hair brings the pain to his features again. A slightly lighter shade than both he and his wife’s raven-dark hair. His eyes track downward to her eyes, looking at him with an expression hard to describe.

A wary, questioning expression with hints of sarcasm and snark. As if looking at the universe either expecting entertainment or a need for protection.

Or expecting pain.

He stares into the eyes of his wife’s daughter. Eyes of a very dark gold, almost brown or black in some light. The color of Soruna honey.

Much like his wife’s. His own dark eyes grow thunderous as he sees the other colors present. Flecks of a dark green. Flecks that in an even different light, show the young girl’s as a dark, almost warm green in their totality.

He mind flies back to several years ago. Just after his house-arrest. Hana had come into his room. They had both been drunk. Without a word, she had stripped off her clothes and climbed into his bed.

An almost perfunctory grappling later, she had slipped out of his bed.

Never to return.

He had never felt her skin against his again.

He shakes his head. _No. She is my daughter in everything that matters._

_Except blood._

Fantos Shaizan looks up as a young man walks into the club. The host walks up to him, eyeing his worn spacer’s clothing. A security droid walks up at the host’s gesture. The young man produces a chip and hands it to the host. The host places it into a slot on the droid.

A light turns green. Shaizan sees the young man smile as the host bows his welcome and the security droid moves away.

Fantos sees what the host saw to make him approach the man, aside from his clothing.

The man’s dark eyes look over the patrons of the club with a cold gaze. Shaizan sees the deep scar from the right corner of the lip, giving the mouth a permanent sneering expression.

One that he probably had had from birth, before the scar. The young man is of medium height, but with bulky muscles, as well as the look of the ability to use them.

The cold gaze lights on Fantos. The man’s smile is not an improvement over the permanent sneer. He begins to head over to his booth.

Fantos Shaizan’s blood runs cold. He pulls Sosha closer, motioning her to put her device up.

As the cold-eyed young man comes closer, a fleeting thought moves through his mind.

He wishes Hana was here.

Hana or the man who gave Sosha those green flecks in her eyes.

+=+=+=+=+=

Hera finds herself once again standing in front of her airlock hatch, waiting on someone else who might have a direct impact on her life.

The door cycles open. Four women stand in the chamber, hooded and cloaked, their faces obscured. The tallest one reaches up and removes her hood and cowl, revealing a beautiful woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Her brown eyes reveal a searching expression—an expression that quickly grows warm—belying the composed serenity of the rest of her features.

“Hello, Captain,” she says in a Mid-Rim accent. “We are your passengers.” The four women bow as one. Her eyes turn slightly harder. “We are at your command in transit to our destination. But once we arrive there, we will probably need you to follow our instructions to the letter.”

Hera knows that her lekku are twitching in irritation. She can only hope that the woman doesn’t know Twi’lek lekku language very well.

The woman smiles. “Yes. I know. It is an _irritant_. But we know what we are doing, just as you do.” She nods. “We will listen to what you say, as well, Spectre.” Hera is speechless as she realizes that this is said in fluent Ryl, complete with Lessu accent.

_Okay. Apparently she does know our culture._

Chopper, is, as usual, less tactful. A raspberry-like noise is blown in the women’s direction.

Hera hears a giggle from the three behind them. She can feel her face flushing with heat.

“I am sorry,” she says, shooting a look of death at her soon-to-be late astromech.

The leader of the group holds up her hand, a smirk on her face. “It is no matter, Captain,” she says. “We know the personalities of astromechs.” Her face takes on a wistful quality. “I once saw a Queen of Naboo clean an astromech at the direction of another of us. One of us disguised as the Queen, as the Queen was posing as one of us. It is one of the most powerful stories of our past.” She kneels besides Chopper and runs her hand along his dome.

An almost purring electronic noise is heard.

Hera says nothing, but holds her hand out, shepherding them into her ship.


	7. Of Knives and Data

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rats start to come out into the light.

Hana Yung-Shaizan walks into the dingy light of the alley. A dark poncho covers her body. A close observation would reveal that her hands are not in the sleeves, but covered completely by the small cloak.

She looks over at the back exit of the small club—a club that would never find itself with a five-fork review on the Galactic J’onajj Guide.

It would count itself fortunate that it would ever be actually awarded one tine of a fork.

As would the entire planet.

Hana walks up to the door. She steels herself, then raps on the doorframe in a particular fashion. Two sharp raps, one deep one, then finishing with the palm.

She waits for a response. A blind posting on the dark net, with the tag of the transmission and the instructions had arrived.

Arrived along with Ano Lessi, Riyo Chuchi’s antisocial, but talented slicer.

It had only been ten minutes of Ano texting Lassa with responses to her questions, while sitting next to her, before the pirate had threatened to space the slicer.

A threat that had of coursed challenged Ano to come up with even more snarky responses. Via text, of course. 

Hana had managed to keep everyone breathing oxygen, rather than vacuum. 

The door opens to the club. Hana is immediately assaulted by a cacophony of noise, light, and odor. Odors of various legal and illegal substances, as well as bodies that had not met the various hygiene requirements of their species. 

She refrains from holding her hand over her mouth. She walks to a booth with a ‘Reserved’ sign on it and sits. 

Hana holds up a finger to the server droid, ordering the House special. Her practiced eyes track around the club, surveying the clientele, who are rapt by the Twi’lek dancers of both primary genders.

They seem to ignore her, although a couple of bolder of the denizens seem to be comfortable with looking her up and down, in an attempt to glean what might be concealed under the poncho.

Her eyes return their interest with a look that discourages further investigation. 

As she sits waiting, she thinks about what had been revealed to her on the datapad, when Riyo had confirmed her suspicions.  
A particular restricted Holonet address protocol. One reserved for the Dai-Lin. An obsolete identifier for the former. 

Her husband in name, Fantos Shaizan. His identifier had been attached to a datapacket sent here.

To the Smugglers’ Moon. Where information could be bought and sold as much as any commodity on a world controlled by various Hutts.

Her eyes grow hard. _Including sentients._

Information that could end her family, or, at the very least, breach the trust of a certain network.

A network that includes a certain Corellian. Her eyes tear as she remembers that one night.

A small figure walks up and sits at her table. 

Both of them seem to be the only two people in the bar braving the House special. 

Neither glass has been touched.

Hana gets a glimpse of dark, almond-shaped eyes, similar to her own, locked with hers. She glances at the interloper’s hands. 

They are concealed within the figure’s own cloak. 

“So you deal in questions?” the figure asks. Hana’s eyebrows raise at the feminine voice, a deep Outer Rim drawl at odds with the features.

“For the right price, I’ll deal in answers,” she replies. “What are you looking for?”

“Well, I appreciated the answers about being reserved. I would love more instructions on that.”

Hana tries to keep her eyes, the only thing that her hood reveals, more expressionless on the emphasis given to the word ‘reserve’.

“Well, that depends on why you want it. Seems like there has been a bit of interest in those answers,” she says evenly. “I would hate to get in a bind because somebody is getting greedy for them.”

The woman’s dark eyes flash at Hana’s own oblique mention. “I am not sure I want to deal with you. The transmission that I acquired implied that there would be no questions asked.”

“Really? Maybe you should tell me how you got the information on reserves. Maybe we can skip the bullshit games. I’ll pay you for those answers. Or maybe I will just let you keep breathing,” Hana says. 

“Bold talk for a little woman who doesn’t have any backup,” the woman says. She starts to rise, but stops as Hana pokes her in the stomach with the blaster she holds under her poncho.

“Don’t really need it, dear. I’ll just burn your guts out if you don’t give me what I want.”

Hana senses the movement before she sees it, a gleaming length of thin steel flashes out of the woman’s sleeve.

Pain lances like a hot iron along Hana’s forearm. She recoils and tries to dodge the blade, but slips on the seat.

She sees the blade moving forward in a thrust. 

She braces herself.

+=+=+=+=+=

Fantos Shaizan stares at the young man as he sits in their booth. A dangerous smirk flows over the young man’s dark features, making the drooping scar appear even more sinister.

In spite of his obvious failings of character, Fantos has always been able to read people.

He looks closer at the interloper. His bearing as he sits, even though he immediately corrects himself and sprawls, is one of a military correctness. 

A bearing that is courtesy of a military academy. 

He realizes that the man is returning the scrutiny. Measuring him. Probably seeing a man who desperately wants to right wrongs.

To become a man that the little girl sitting next to him proud of him one day. 

“Hello,” the young man says to Sosha. Sosha narrows her eyes. Fantos notices that they are in full ‘green’ mode as they look with suspicion at the soldier.

Fantos doesn’t blame her. “Pay attention to me,” he says to the young man. “She has no bearing on our conversation.”

“Oh, but that is where you are wrong, friend Dai-Lin. May I call you Dai-Lin?” says the soldier. “She has every bearing on our discussions. If you hadn’t snatched her before I had a chance to get better acquainted with her on Naboo, she would be keeping you straight. Keeping you straight so that I could get more info on those sweet little targets I got.”

“You’re not getting any more from me,” Shaizan says. “I didn’t even authorize the release of information in the first place.”

“Don’t really care, bud,” the soldier says. “Just really helpful with my retirement plan.”

Shaizan’s eyes widen. He then smiles. “So, you are just a thief and not an ISB or Intelligence stooge?”

The soldier-thug smiles. “Why can’t I be both?” His eyes harden. “Get up,” he says quietly, but with full menace. “Let’s go somewhere more private to carry out our discussions. That way I can hide the bodies more easily.”

Fantos’s vision blurs with anger. He searches for a way out. A way out of a situation that someone else had gotten he and by extension his daughter into. Someone that he had respected for nearly fifty years, since he was a child.

He looks down at a touch on his side. A knife has appeared in his antagonist’s hand.

Appeared only to Fantos.

“There you are, Dai Lin,” a smoky voice says. Both men turn to the sound of the voice. 

A woman clad in an expensive business suit stands at the booth. Her dark eyes survey the scene with a studied interest. “I think it best if you come back to my office,” she says.

The thug grins. “As much as I would like to know more about what the two of you plan to do in that office—even though he is a little old for you—it will have to wait. We have business of our own to attend to.”

With a smooth movement, the woman holds out her hand and gently pulls Sosha from the booth. Sosha starts to resist, but one look at Fantos and she acquiesces.

The thug’s face grows dark with anger. Fantos prepares to fight.

He prepares to die.

The soldier calms. “Now you might want to stay out of this, sweetie. You might find yourself in a world of hurt.”

The woman smiles, her eyes reflecting great power. “No, sweetie. I think that you might be. I am Sloane Conlyn. Duly elected Administrator of this world, and hereditary High Chieftain of the Conyl and of Ganthel.” She smirks. “A friend of mine told me that some wayward ass might need my help. He fits the description.”

“Well, since we are doing introductions, I guess I’ll go next. I am Lieutenant Malikarus Adede of the Imperial Security Bureau. Get out of my way or face the consequences.”

He draws a blaster with his left hand. There is an audible gasp from the clientele.

He starts to move out with the financier. Several large, identically dressed humans move into view, their hands on their blasters.

The High Chieftain smiles. “You might be ISB, but methinks that you just might be into something you are not supposed to be into. Otherwise, there would be stormtroopers tearing everything up.”

Adede says nothing. Instead his right hand throws a small object on the floor. Sloane Conlyn throws herself on the little girl as everyone dives for cover.

Pitch darkness and noise assaults everyone’s senses in the club. 

There is nothingness.


	8. The Cipher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarity from a former big shot. The current big shot meets the puppet master?

Time stands still as Sloane Conlyn feels the effects of whatever the Imperial had thrown on the ground. Their is only silence and darkness as if the room has drawn into itself.

The High Chieftain is able to feel the slight weight of the young girl she protects for an instant. After the instant, she feels nothing, as if her nerves have been severed.

The nothingness is suddenly replaced by the sight of the inhabitants of the room attempting to climb to their feet, their eyes reeling in their faces. 

She knows the feeling as she tries to make the synapses in her brain fire. She hears a cry near her. She looks up and sees Fantos Shaizan staggering, his eyes and hands seeking something.

Sloane realizes that she no longer holds Sosha.

Adede, the Imperial is no longer present, either.

She closes her eyes and steels herself to get up. 

Fantos is continuing to stagger drunkenly. 

Conlyn manages to climb to her feet. She once heard her older relation, a distant cousin and Republic naval officer named Jana Sloane, describe the disorientation after zero-g maneuvering.

Her stomach tells her that it was something like this unsettled sensation. 

She manages to take hold of Shaizan’s hands. He pushes against her. She realizes that he is trying to reach the door, to pursue the Imperial or his daughter—she is not sure which.

“Calm down, Fantos,” she says, trying to move a level of calm into her voice that she herself doesn’t feel. “I’ve got you. Steady.”

“They’ve got her,” he says unsteadily. “We have to go after them.”

“Fantos, none of us are in any shape to go after her,” she says. 

He slumps into a chair. She gingerly sits next to him. She fights the headache that appears to be separating her skull from the rest of the body. 

“What are you doing here, your Grace?” Fantos asks her.

She takes a deep breath. “I was asked to come here by your Queen, through her agent, to give whatever support to you, I could.”

She sees the bewilderment in his eyes. “Who is her agent?”

“That would be me,” comes a clear, dry voice with a broad Pantoran accent. 

He whirls around, giving every appearance of surprise.

Riyo Chuchi, Senator of the Sovereign World of Orto Plutonia and Moon of Pantora, stands in the door. A thin young woman of the Senator’s people waves a sensor around. She appears to be wearing dual data monocles in front of her eyes.

Sloane Conlyn sees Fanto’s expression grow dark. “Just what I needed. Another interfering friend of my wife,” he says. 

_Apparently he is feeling better_ , Sloane thinks to herself. _The asshole that everybody talks about appears to be back._

Riyo, to her credit, does not back down. “Looks like you need someone to keep you out of trouble and your daughter safe. She turns to a chime on her comm. She nods at the young woman with the sensor.

“Looks like your friend used a Darknight stun bomb. Don’t find those around much anymore. Only certain Mandalorians use them.”

She sits down next to Sloane, pats her hand. Her golden eyes are hard as they fall on Fantos. “So tell me everything, Shaizan,” she says. “How did this data get out there?”

Fantos Shaizan closes his eyes.

~=~=~=~=~=

Hana waits for the knife thrust, as she braces the deep cut on her forearm to stop the bleeding. A loud crunch sounds in the periphery of her consciousness, accompanied by a grunt and a muffled curse. Her eyes unaccountably go to the floor, where the thin knife now rests. 

She looks up and sees another diminutive figure spin and kick her opponent in the jaw, the blunt object coming to rest under her arm in her right hand.

The opponent’s right arm hangs useless, a definite break in both bones in the forearm from the Handmaiden’s wielding of Hana’s watch cane from her days as Captain of the Queen’s Guard. 

An archaic affectation, some had said, but one that had always been effective.

She manages to pull her blaster with her weak hand, as the woman does the same.

Hana wins the battle, but only just. They both crab sideways for cover as they manage to open fire. 

Hana sees that Morene’ has not remained stationary, admiring her handiwork, she has switched the cane to her left hand and drawn her Handmaiden’s blaster, covering Hana’s back, rather than concentrating on the fire from the front. 

Other large human males suddenly move into the room. She curses as she sees their uniform blaster carbines.

Blastech E-11s. The favored weapon of Imperial stormtroopers. All of the troops are in civilian clothes. She hears a deeper blaster from her left as a tall Pantoran woman joins the fray.

“You couldn’t bring any of your crew?” she yells at Lassa.

“Everybody’s a kriffing critic,” comes the reply. “Figured you might want the crew on the guns, just in case any bigger problems arise.”

The fight is over as quickly as it starts as the same number of beings of various species stand up next to the incognito troopers.

They stand up and fire single blaster bolts into each of their heads. 

Hana, Lassa, and Morene’ look at one another. None of the beings see a female figure, her strong arm at an odd angle, holster her blaster and run through a side door.

The ten allies gaze at the three women. One, a tall Tognath hunter, his two-tubed respirator rasping, breaks away from the others. He points towards the rear exit, his blaster held loosely, but with its intent clear.

His and the other nine blasters. All pointed at them. The ragtag band makes no attempt to relieve them of their weapons, but any threatening move and they would be cut down. 

All three women holster their weapons. They begin to move in the direction indicated.

Hana seethes as she tries to figure out all of the players in this damned game.

~=~=~=~=~=

Fantos Shaizan takes a sip of the Toniray cocktail that the club’s staff had fixed for him. He is on his third. Riyo tries to hide her impatience. He puts the flute down.

“It started about a year ago,” he says. “I was having drinks at the house with some of the former members of the Shaizan board.” His expression hardens. “You, know. Those ‘dangerous criminals’ that you and my wife threw out of the company, then had them indicted.”

Riyo feels her anger growing. “They made their bed, you sonofabitch. Just like you did. They chose to turn a blind eye to your stupidity. And just so we’re clear, the Queen had them indicted, based upon evidence gathered by Naboo’s Inspectors of Constabulary.”

She stands up, allowing herself to lose control. “Your little business deals with those criminals put many of my friends in danger. You were basically in bed, indirectly, with those murderers on your own world.” 

Sloane Conlyn stands up and quietly puts her hand on Riyo’s arm. “I know, Riyo. But we need to hear him out. Put the past aside for Sosha’s sake.” She smiles. “I saw him defend that little girl with his life. Focus on that, Senator.”

She nods and sits down.

Fantos looks at the Toniray flute longingly, then shakes his head. “The conversation, after several drinks, somehow turned to my perks and powers—the authority of the Dai-Lin.” He is silent for several moments. “It somehow turned to the Cipher. I still had mine, but it was disable. He reaches in and pulls out an ancient pocketwatch. He flips it, showing the intricate etching on the back. 

The etching of a medallion, with jewels. “They were all fascinated by it. It didn’t get brought out very often in anyone else’s presence. A new one is made for each succeeding Dai-Lin.”

“It was a couple of months later when I realized that someone was using the cipher. It had some deviation, but it was active. I don’t know how.”

Riyo stares at him. “Let me guess. You tried it after she booted you.”

He looks away, then grins sheepishly. “Wouldn’t you?” he asks the Pantoran.

Riyo feels the right side of her lips quirk upward. “Probably,” she admits. “So what happened?”

“The cipher I had was designed to notify me if it was active. It did. The indicators said it was cloned. The transmission went to Nar Shadaa. So I went there. I watched the person who received it on a public holonet link.” 

“It was a woman. Very tough-looking. Kind of had that same look that the asshole did today.”

Riyo remains silent. “I was able to access the link, with a little help from a slicing program I had. I found three separate data packets. No, check that. Two separate packets with one embedded.”

“What were they?” Sloane asks. 

“One was something totally innocuous. Design drawings for a private residence on a moon of Naboo. One of the mining moons.”

Riyo feels her anger rise. She manages to calm. “The other?”

“Imperial Currency Reserve security protocols.”

_Oh, nothing major._

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But it is what was embedded in it that may be trouble.”

“The cell information,” Riyo says. 

He looks at Sloane. 

“She is ‘annointed’, Shaizan. Something you aren’t,” she says dangerously, using the term for one who knows what certain people are trying to do in the Galaxy

“It was hidden in the general information, encoded. I knew that I had to get the information back. For Hana and Sosha’s sake. That is why I reached out to them. To fix it.”

“That is when they threatened Sosha. I grabbed her.”

The three of them fall silent.

~=~=~=~=~=

The door opens and the three women are shoved inside. Morene’s eyes flash at the Tognath. Her hand clinches on the weighted cane, that they had not taken from her.

Their eyes adjust to the dark. A large figure sits in the shadows. There is silence.

Lassa’s patience ends. “Alright, asshole. Enough with the drama. I am tired and would really like to take a goddamned bath.”

A deep laugh is heard. The figure moves into the light. 

A smirk plays over his dark features. The first thing that Lassa notices is the sadness, the experience in his blue-green eyes, one of them marked with a scar through the eyebrow.

She curses to herself. “Hello, Saw. Killed any prisoners lately?”

Saw Gerrerra’s smirk fades. “Can’t say I am glad to see you, Rhayme. You and your little playmates were a thorn in my side a few years back. But at least you are still willing to get supples to us.

Hana looks at the pirate in amazement.


	9. The Conscience of a Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moves are made.
> 
> Ahsoka talks to herself.

Riyo Chuchi watches as Fantos gathers himself to continue. His handsome face is pensive as he stares at his drink. For a moment, she feels sorry for him.

Then she thinks of the little girl that he may have put in danger by attempting to clean up the mess himself. 

She shakes her head. _Not actually his mess. Just one he enabled._

She takes her own deep breath. “So how many Imperial currency reserves did this information cover?”

He starts back to the present. “Five. Three have been hit.”

Riyo is thoughtful. “Only two cells have been rolled up. Or at least have gone so damned deep we can’t contact them.”

He nods. “The information that we found embedded in there only mentions three total on those worlds.”

The Senator pulls out her comm, checks it. “We apparently had an operative on that last world a couple of days ago. She had to evacuate before she got taken by Imperial marines. It was not apparently coincidental that the marines showed up. Place doesn’t even have a name. Just a catalog designation. _Esk Zerek Yert-342.”_

Fantos grins. “I have been there. Inhabitants call it Easy.”

“Then let’s go,” Riyo says. She starts to get up. Fantos remains seated.

“I’m not going anywhere without my daughter,” he says darkly. 

Riyo feels the anger rise. She looks down at her arm. 

Sloane Conlyn’s hand rests there. She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. Riyo relents and nods.

“We have someone coming who will take care of that for us. They are exceptionally good at what they do,” she says. “Your Queen guarantees it.”

His eyes widen. He looks away at the picture window of the spaceport. “Alright. I am holding all of you to your word. I am holding you accountable for my daughter’s life.”

Riyo stares at him. “You do have some gall, Shaizan,” she says quietly. “You get yourself in this mess, risking your daughter because of your past minions trying to hold onto their miserable power and influence, then you threaten us. That is rich.” She turns to Conlyn. “You have it?”

The Chieftain smiles, her dark features almost glowing. “Yes. I got it. It’s working and active as well.”

Riyo grins. “Glad that you are with us, your Grace. We probably couldn’t do this without you.”

“It’s nothing, Senator. My world has done some shady things in the past—especially my father. We have a long way to go to atone.”

Riyo sees Shaizan’s eyes widen. Both women rise and take each other’s hands. “Tell Fulcrum to give our love and regard to Ms. Florlin. I am glad that she is doing well with her new life.”

“I will, Administrator.”

“One question that I do have, before you go.”

Riyo nods.

“These three cells. I don’t know everything, which I shouldn’t, but why were three, relatively new cells the only ones embedded in the data?”

Both Fantos and Riyo are silent as they contemplate the possibilities.

The possibilities that someone else in the organization, deeper in the organization might have betrayed it.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka Tano clicks off her comm. Her mind reels at what Riyo had revealed. “Riyo, I am headed back to Easy. I don’t want you and Shaizan coming here. I need you to go back to Naboo, just in case we have to unravel information, or worse yet, roll up everybody on Naboo and submerge.”

“Are you sure, Jana?” Riyo asks, using her alias. “You nearly got taken.”

“Yeah, but close only counts in proton torpedoes. I kept my face concealed enough. Plus the fact that my bruises look worse after several days.”

She ignores the look of pain in Riyo’s blue features through the hologram. She nods to her and signs off.

She lifts her hands to her forehead, rubbing the spot where her lekku joins the orange skin.

The massage doesn’t help the throbbing pain. Pain that pulses as she tries to decipher what she knows so far about what is going on.

It doesn’t take her long as she realizes she doesn’t know enough to fill a shot glass.

She sighs and kneels on the deck of the blockade runner. She closes her eyes as she reaches out and touches her mystical partner.

She becomes aware of small sensations. Of the feel of the fabric of her leggings against the small part of her skin exposed in her gloves and her bracers. Of the small skip in the CR-90’s cooling systems.

Of the green, purple, and gold light suddenly present in her head. She knows that her lips widen in a grin as a welcome intrusion enters her mind. 

_Hey Runt. You need to be careful. Your shielding is kind of low._

Her eyes tear behind her lids. “I know, Bait. Trying to figure something out,” she whispers. She grins. “Happy name day,” she says. 

_Thanks for reminding me, Bait._

“Sorry I missed it, _Baa’je,_ ” she says, continuing to keep her voice low, so that she won’t be thought crazy by the crew. 

Sitting in the dark, talking to herself.

“It’s okay. Maybe we can continue our tradition of spending the week before or after our days together. Or the month.”

Her breath comes out ragged as she fights more than slight tears. “Yeah. Hopefully I can get this mess ironed out.”

_So what is going on?_

“Data breach. On Naboo.” She pauses. “Shaizan.”

His mind is quiet. “I’m sorry, Bryne,” she says. She smiles softly. “Hana is not responsible. Her husband may bear some responsibility.” She doesn’t mention anything else. 

She feels a slight burst of anger, quickly quelled. Ahsoka thinks back to a secret that he had told her, a couple of years ago. She knows that he is thinking on it. 

So what are you trying to figure out? She feels a smirk in her consciousness. _I know I ain’t the brightest star in the sky, but maybe I can help._

She rolls her eyes, hoping he can feel it. “Wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Bait. You aren’t just a pretty face to me,” she says with a Smirk of her own. 

She grows serious. “Two cells have been rolled up. They were embedded in the other leaked data. Data about Imperial Currency Reserve security protocols.”

She feels him pause. “The thing is, I don’t remember much about those cells. I started them about six months ago, but have only gotten sporadic reports from them.” She looks down. “Have we gotten too big? I haven’t delegated much recruiting, only a bit to you. Maybe a tiny bit to Solstice.”

_How did you find out they were rolled up, then?_

“When the data was breached, Riyo told me about them. She said that the indicator on the data had shown ‘compromised.’ There is supposedly a third on one of the ICRs that have not been hit.”

_Where?_

“Place called ESY-342. Also known as Easy. I’m on my way there, now, to try and contact them.”

_What do you know about the one there?_

“Not much, Bait. It is run by a Gungan. The son of the current Boss, Trest. He is kind of a hothead, but there is a lieutenant that keeps things rational.”

_Don’t often hear of Gungans that far in the Rim._

“I know. The Queen kind of made Boss Trest, ah, send him on a ‘galactic tour,’ to keep him from bringing Moff Panaka down on them,” she says. 

_I think I might know the adult supervision, Runt._

“Yeah. Solstice. She has proven herself a great deal, in the last few years. Hana also has an edge in an assistant who grew up in the Gungan enclaves. She played with Binjin Trest as a child.”

Ahsoka’s comm chimes. Her eyes grow soft. “I have to go, Bait,” she says. “I’m sorry. I wish I could see you.” She feels the crooked grin in her mind. “I wish I could hold you,” she finishes.

_Just hold me?_ comes the thought in her mind. She feels her center twitch. 

“No, no, no. We will not have the Force-hoodoo equivalent of comm-sex, stud.”

_You’re no fun, Fulcrum._

“That is not what you said the last time we were actually in the same room. But I could be mistaken, with all the moans and growls. You weren’t exactly coherent.”

_You kinda bring it out in me, Runt. Although I couldn’t tell from all those trills._

She feels his heartrate sync with hers. 

_I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Fulcrum._

_Ahsoka._ She feels the presence reduce to the tricolored light, then vanish.

“I love you, Jame,” she whispers, half to herself.

As always after she hears his voice in her mind, she wonders if he is truly present with his diminished Force-power. 

She wonders if his familiar, loved voice just acts as her own conscience. They had never been Master and Padawan, with the associated bond.

This _whatever it is_ had manifested after they had reconnected.

She sighs and shakes her head. _Maybe I am just as insane as he says he is when we talk about this._

She stands, pushing thoughts of him from her mind.

Ahsoka doesn’t quite succeed at pushing feelings from lower down away.

Or from her heart.

~=~=~=~=~=

Mal Adede looks at the chronometer on the bulkhead of the chartered ship. He turns to the Selonian captain. “I need to be off of this world with my daughter,” he says. He adds a bit of menace to his voice and eyes.

The Selonian appears to be only a trifle impressed. “My pilot has come up sick. I have had to substitute. She will be here soon.”

“Do you know her?” Adede asks suspiciously. 

“No. But she comes highly recommended from people I know. She has worked for some friends of mine on Ryloth.” Adede detects the dryness slide into the Captain’s gruff voice. “She is also very discreet, according to my friends.”

Adede nods. He looks at the sleeping girl strapped in the seat aft of the pilot’s seat. She would be out for awhile.

He notices that the Captain has left the cockpit. Adede takes the moment to wonder if Lardai will betray him, once he gets the information on the Reserves.

Of if she does first, from the wife or her representative.

He hears the hatch open again. He turns to the Captain.

His attention is drawn by the figure standing next to him.

A much smaller Twi’lek female, dressed in leggings and a simple tank, her lekku bound with only a simple orange cloth.

Her green eyes stare at him appraisingly, unlike any Twi’lek female he has ever met.

“Can you actually fly?’ he asks. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I actually went to flight school between dance classes,” she says dryly.

Adede says nothing. He jerks his head. “Let’s get out of here.”


	10. Rhayme’s Rules of Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates, partisans, financiers, and Handmaidens all talk.
> 
> No one listens.

Lassa Rhayme stares at the partisan leader. “Can’t say I am all that glad to see you, either, Saw,” she says. “You caused a lot of people that I love to be hurt. Just because you had to do things your own goddamned way.”

Saw turns away. Lassa’s eyes widen as she sees something that she didn’t expect.

_Sadness._

“Yes. I know. I watched one of them die. She had been close to me, as well. I watched as that light cruiser’s blasts hit her position.”

Lassa’s mind rushes. _He’s talking about Ahsoka. He doesn’t know she survived on Stornan._

She looks at Han and Morene’. She gives an imperceptible nod, then puts her finger next to her nose. Hana smiles quickly. Morene’ is perplexed, but follows the Dai Lin’s lead. 

“She was my friend, Saw. I loved her. I think that we may have some words on this. After you release us and tell us why the hell you were in that club.”

Saw’s look hardens. “I knew her a lot longer than you, Rhayme. I might welcome that conversation at some point. Finally decide for myself who might be better. I’ll never have to wonder again.”

“I don’t wonder, Gerrera. I know.”

“Maybe so. But as for the club, I actually am a part-owner of it. Got to have some income to keep the dream alive,” Saw says. He turns to Hana. “So why were you dealing with that Imp scumbag? Kinda makes you suspect in certain circles.”

There is a murmuring in several languages behind them as weapons are fingered. 

“Didn’t know they were an Imperial scumbag. They had something of mine.”

“Ah, yes. The data on the Imperial Currency Reserves. That was very helpful.”

“How did you get it?”

“Managed to steal a copy of it from the Imperial scumbag’s assistant scumbag,” he says with a smirk.

Hana and Lassa wait patiently. He sighs. “The Imperial, who your little tiger broke, is a charmer named Cantos Lardai. Full Captain of the Line in the Imperial Commandos. Likes her knife a lot, as well as a long gun. She moved up into management. She ran a program called Operation Windfall for ISB, after a few untimely transfers. The pilot program for that Operation took place on Stornan.

He pauses, takes a drink. “The program that cost us our friend. A program to undermine a world’s economy, rather than wasting troopers. She has gone on to bigger and better things. She is now is in charge of the anti-partisan effort.”

“You mentioned an assistant scumbag?”

“Yeah. Another homicidal charmer called Adede. He got ahold of the codes, before Cantos could. Seems like he was more interested in his retirement plan.” His face grows thunderous. “Rumor has it that he might have another master. A green one who even you would have a hard time finding irresistible, from what I heard, Rhayme.”

Lassa rolls her eyes. “Not into Xizor’s mojo,” she says. “So Black Sun may be involved?”

“Possible. The Imp may be running his own game.”

“So what was it tonight?”

“Think Cantos was just trying to get the info back and find who dropped the windfall in her lap.”

“So. Did you hit the ICRs?” Hana asks. 

“Only one. The other got hit before we could get it. I think it was Adede and some friends.” He smiles at Hana’s angry expression. “It costs money to save the galaxy, my dear.”

“Or destroy it, the way you do everything,” Hana says. 

“Perhaps,” is all that the partisan says. He takes another drink. 

“Do you know anything about the cells that rolled up?”

“Cell.”

“What?” Hana asks, sitting up.

“Only one was rolled up by the Imps. Kind of a by-product of us hitting the Reserve,” he says, almost nonchalantly.

Hana stands up. Weapons are produced from all sides at the sudden movement. Lassa puts her hand easily on the Dai-Lin’s arm.

“We heard that there were two.”

“Nope. The Imps only got one.” He motions his soldiers to holster their weapons. “I got the other one.”

There is silence at his pronouncement. 

“Now that I have your attention, I’ll let you take a message back to your precious Fulcrum. Tell them to stay the hell out of that system. It is mine. The same thing on Easy. I have reached out to the young Gungan prince. We have an accord, once I was able to end the influence of Fulcrum’s pet Twi’lek.”

Lassa is silent. “You might want to rethink your position, Saw. Fulcrum is no one to be trifled with. Especially if you hurt one of their people.”

Saw laughs. “That is the problem with Fulcrum and those who hold their leash. They care too much about their ‘people’. Don’t worry. She is merely ‘indisposed’. I’ll allow someone to retrieve her.”

Lassa smiles. “I think it is time for us to go, Saw. It’s been lovely to see you attempt to intimidate us.”

“What do you mean, Rhayme?” he says suspiciously.

Blasterfire is heard outside wherever the hell it is they had been taken. The Tognath walks in. “Imperial troops are outside, Saw.”

His eyes grow hot. Lassa smiles at him. She pulls out a small comm. The Imperial cog is visible on it. 

As is a blinking light of a distress beacon.

“Important lesson, Saw. Never trust anyone. Be it Imperials or Rebel scum who tend to give me an idea that they would kill me.”

“You’re caught as much as we are, Lassa.”

“If I have to keep giving lessons, Saw, I am going to start charging. Always have an escape route. Especially when your guards are shooting outside.”

Saw’s eyes widen as he realizes that a very large knife is pointed at his groin. 

Very close to his groin.

Hana reaches into the bag that their weapons had been dumped in. 

Saw shakes his head and grins. “Okay, Rhayme, you can move the blade from my play-pretties. Get out of here.” His grin fades. “Remember what I said. Tell Fulcrum.”

Lassa ignores him as they move out. “Come on,” she says. She looks at Morene’. “Did you learn how to hotwire a speeder in between tea ceremonies and makeup tips?”

The Handmaiden rolls her eyes. “Actually I skipped dance class for the theft seminar.”

Hana shakes her head. A roaring noise shakes the building. “I have a better idea, idiots. Let’s get to the roof so that Lassa’s hardheads can pick us up.”

Lassa and Morene’ look at one another in commiseration. “There is always a fun-killer,” Morene’ says. 

Lassa yelps as a blaster bolt clips the door frame. “Oh well. Guess that some of Saw’s crew liked us less than he did. Okay. Plan Aurek it is,” she finishes. She pulls three round objects from behind her. She tosses one to each of them.

“Make’em count, girls,” she says. She draws her blaster and fires at three windows, shattering them. The Mando Greeting Cards are tossed through the ragged glass.

Screams can be heard through the explosions. 

As they head into the night, the roaring changes pitch. “Yeah, Adis. Head for the alternate site. We’ll try to get there as soon as we can,” Lassa says into her comm.

“You have an alternate site? Wow, I’m almost impressed,” Hana says dryly.

“Smartass. It’s a good ways away. Hope the infant comes through.”

At that moment, a brightly colored speederbus screams up. The door opens. Morene’ grins cheekily at them. “This is the bus for the old folks home. Toddle on,” she says.

“Give a few minutes of not getting shot at, sweetums, and I’ll show you how old I am,” Lassa says darkly.

The bus turns and heads in the direction that Lassa tiredly points at. “What if the Imps have tanks?” Hana asks.

Lassa closes her eyes and thinks for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. This a Hutt world. A commando unit doesn’t shout heavy equipment. They probably aren’t ready to invade for a datachip like this.”

A blasterbolt shatters the rear window of the bus. Lassa curses and looks back. Six Imperials are crowded into a stolen landspeeder.

A landspeeder that seems to be able to go faster than their purloined bus.

“Hey, dear, not to be a critic, but do you think that next time you might steal something that goes a little fucking faster?” she says. A single finger is raised in her direction. 

Lassa and Hana move to the back of the bus. Morene’ slides her two blasters to them.

In seconds, both women are laying down a double-handed barrage.

Not doing a damned bit of damage.

That is left to the producer of the roaring noise that swings back overhead.

A single bolt and the _Opportunity_ ensures that the owner’s insurance premiums will rise.

In her _Sentinel_ -class shuttle, Cantos Lardai watches as the last remaining portion of her command still alive changes status.

Only she, the medic, and the two pilots remain alive. She winces as she moves her arm, in its new bacta cast.

_I am going to enjoy watching Mal Adede die slowly._


	11. Spectre’s Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liberation

Mal Adede watches as the Twi’lek pilot raises the old freighter with skill and just a hint of dash for the old garbage-hauler. Her eyes are locked on the controls, ignoring him. 

The captain nods and turns away, apparently satisfied that he has a competent pilot, at least for this run.

Adede smirks as he remembers the pilot questioning some of the captain’s and her predecessor’s stupid-ass choices in the setup of the old scow’s controls and control surfaces.

The captain had proven that he was worth every demi-credit of the paltry sum that he had accepted, by immediately blustering and threatening the pilot with immediate firing.

Mal had caught her eye after the pig had left, as she had adjusted the controls to her liking and preferences. She had stared at him, challenge in her emerald eyes. 

He had merely smiled and turned away, heading to the small cabin. His eyes grow hard as he looks at the sleeping child—a child in the thrall of a slight dosage of a sedative.

With luck, she wouldn’t wake up until they reached their destination. 

A small planet known as Easy. Their next target. 

Or at least his. A target that once tapped, would ensure that he would be free. That he would be free in comfort and style. 

There would no longer be a need to deal with that murderous psychopath Cantos Lardai. He had endured the insults and threats of the Tatooine native for the past three years.

Ever since his own patron had lost his battle for supremacy.

Ever since Lardai’s patron had lost hers as well.

At the hands of a band of Corellians.

He feels a lurch. He sees the Twi’lek slightly correct the steering as blue turns to black and the pinpricks of the stars.

His eyes lock on the twitching lekku bound by the orange cloth. He absently reaches out and runs his hand over _tchun_. He feels it respond, increasing its twitch, ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you just grab my tits while you are at it?” comes the dry voice.

“Are you offering?” he asks. 

“Not in here,” she replies. “Maybe after I get into hyperspace, I might be amenable to giving you a quick ride.”

His hand doesn’t leave her lek.

He realizes his mistake as he goes flying across the cockpit, the victim of gravity and a twist of the sidestick.

“Sorry,” she says sweetly. “New calibration is a bit touchy.”

He gets up, starts to pull a large knife. “I wouldn’t,” she says. He feels his eyebrows rise into his widow’s peak, as the free hand holds a small Twi’lek blaster on him, under her arm. “I like my lekku just where I have them. Plus, you might lose your chance to play with them some more.”

She had not even turned around.

He doesn’t see her slight smile as he storms out. A smile that turns deadly with purpose.

She releases the sidestick. It continues to maneuver, as the calculations complete on the navi-computer.

~=~=~=~=~=

The deserted corridor on the lowest deck of the old cargo carrier is still as the ship winds its way through the destruction and chaos of hyperspace.

A slight tapping noise is heard, rising in pitch and volume to a louder clanging.

Sparks begin to appear on the worn and stained plating of the deck. Sparks and heat spill from the walking surfaces.

An intake of air and the passageway is once again silent. There is one slight bang, and a cutaway section of the deck rises, then is silently lowered to the metal by a single clawed arm.

An orange dome rises, a soft sound of electronic complaining heard. A gloved hand pats Chopper gently on his dome. Four figures, in various heights, but all identically clad in darkened camouflage, rise from the hole. One of the quartet, not the tallest, but not the shortest, either, places a hand on the metal cranium of the little astromech.

The figure raises its hood, revealing the face of a young woman in her late twenties. “Thanks, Chop, love. Get back down to the cockpit. May need to un-ass this thing in a hurry.” 

A quick beep is heard as the grumpy droid retreats downward. The speaker and her three companions use metal hooks to pull the new hatch back down, concealing its unauthorized construction. 

The other three companions raise their hoods for a moment, as well, revealing the calm faces of three young women. One, the tallest, looks at the first young woman through her dark, almond-shaped eyes. She grins.

“Did he just say something about you being a ‘meatbag who knows how to give him proper due’?”

Storae’, chief Handmaiden of Naboo, grins. “Yep. I am pretty sure that Hera spoils the little shit, but he is already so self-centered and delusional.”

“Not unlike certain Handmaidens,” the tall woman says, looking pointedly at one of the other two younger women, who have revealed themselves to be absolutely identical. 

The one who she looks at, raises her middle finger. Her sister, however, snorts in low laughter.

Storae’ rolls her eyes. “Knock it off, Tole’,” she says to the tall woman. “All of you, focus. A little girl’s life depends on how in the game we are, as does our world’s freedom.”

All three women sober, pulling their hoods back down. The insulted twin, Teae’, touches the chief’s arm in apology. She stares daggers at Tole’, but nods. Her twin, Leae’ grasps her sister’s hand briefly.

“You have the layout that Spectre sent, right?” Storae’ asks. Nods from her companions mark their responses.

“Let’s move out. Twins, go get the girl. Try not to harm anyone if they don’t resist. But if she or any of you are in danger, do what you must.” The two youngest women each gives a brief nod. They both draw small blasters and move out, each watching the other’s back with a fierce determination. Storae’ smiles with pride.

“Tole’,” she says to the remaining Handmaiden, “get to the engine room. Make sure that once we drop out of hyperspace, they can’t follow us.”

“Where are you headed, Storae’?” the other woman asks.

“Going to make sure our pilot gets out of here, as well.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Hera makes sure that the ship can still be manipulated by her new setup, then turns to leave the cockpit. 

She realizes that the young man—the Imperial, from her quick briefing—is standing in the hatch. A small blaster is pointed at her. 

“You should’ve agreed to the ride, tailhead,” he says in an even voice. “You’re missing out, before you die.”

She shakes her head at the slur. “Why? Just because I wasn’t going to kriff you?”

He smiles a death’s head smile, the expression chilling his dark features. “Partially. But mainly because you did something to the control computer. Thought it was just shitty piloting, but I saw you switch the con-com over to an external source, just before I went flying after the foreplay.”

His eyes fix on hers. She notices that the dark orbs seem to have no life in them as she stares at them. 

“So what are you playing at, darling?” he asks.

“I don’t know about you, but I am just trying to earn a living.”

“Should’ve stuck with dancing, sweetheart,” he says. “Get up. Turn around and get on your knees.” He checks his weapon. 

“You know, we could talk about this,” she says, standing up.

“No, dear, I am not much of a talker. I take care of problems.”

“So do I,” she says, as she connects her boot with his jaw.

He drops. She hauls back with her other foot and kicks him once, then twice. 

“Don’t ever paw my lekku, again, you sonofabitch,” she says.

“Is this a general prohibition, or is there a slight chance somebody on our ship will get to touch them?” a warm voice asks from the doorway.

Hera looks up, her hand going to her own blaster, as she kicks the unconscious man’s weapon away. She stops as she sees Storae’ looking at her with approval.

“Not bad, Captain,” she says. “You could’ve done it with one kick, though.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” Hera says. “I like being thorough.”

Storae’ smiles. “I can see that. Come on, Heras’yndulla,” she says. “I think that we have overstayed our welcome, since you concussed Mr. Charm there.”

“What the hell is going on here?” a growling voice says. Both women slowly turn, looking at the Aqualish mate’s four unfocused eyes. The bottle of cheap alcohol slips from his hand, reinforcing the appearance of a consummate professional spacer.

Storae’ turns to Hera. “You want him, dear? To be truly ‘thorough’?”

“Nope, Chief. I would really like to see your form. For learning purposes, of course.”

It takes the Handmaiden two blows to put the mate on the ground.

Hera’s smirk is powerful. 

“It’s been awhile. I usually use blasters,” Storae’ says, her voice rising. Her sepia eyes flash at Hera.

“Sure. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut at the next Handmaiden Tea and Crumpets meeting.”

“I got your crumpets, twit,” Storae’ mutters.

“If you two could stop playing grabass long enough, the babies say that they got our package.” This addition to the discourse comes from a tall woman with a grease-streaked face and a blaster in her hand.

“Did you work your magic, Wrench?” Storae’ asks. 

“Sure did Quagmire,” the other Handmaiden says. “Should be dropping out of hyperspace in just a second.”

As if on cue, the lights dim for a second and the stars replace the pale tunnel. 

Hera turns to her former console and pushes a large red button. A wailing alarm activates in an up-and down wail. 

Storae’s plucked eyebrows rise over her beautiful features. 

“When we pull away, we’re going to rip a hole in this tub. Want to make sure the crewers have a chance.” She lifts her comm. “Chop, buddy, you up?”

An aggrieved tone comes over the comm’s speaker.

Hera rolls her eyes. “Stop being so pissy. Make sure you maintain the link and the control of this crate until we’re off.”

She signs off before Chopper’s rejoinder is heard.

Storae’s eyes soften as they exit the bridge. _She is damned good. Fulcrum better keep an eye on her_ , she thinks.

They manage to avoid the rushing crewmembers as they make their way below.

Hera smiles as she sees the golden-brown eyes looking out at her in befuddlement from where the tiny head rests in one of the twin Handmaiden’s arms, just before the bodyguard kneels by the cutout in the floor and hands the little girl to her sister.

A blaster bolt tears the air just over Hera’s head as she descends into the _Ghost’s  
_ airlock. She turns in shock.

Her assailant from the bridge, three forming bruises on his face, stares at her in pure hatred as he fires. She feels Storae’s foot on her head pushing into her ship.

“Get us out of here, Spectre,” Storae’ says. She cries out as a blaster bolt intersects with her chest. Hera grabs her by her collar and yanks her towards the airlock. 

“Go, Chop! Go!” she screams at the pickup.

The taller young woman tumbles on top of Hera. She gives a low moan, a sign of life.

But her semi-conscious weight pins Hera’s hands.

Just as she sees the Imperial’s upper torso intrude through the hatch. Hera starts to close her eyes as the thug’s blaster moves into the airlock.

A scream is heard in her consciousness, causing her to open her eyes.

Just as his body hits her full on.

With only half of his weight, as she sees Tole’s hand retreat from the emergency hatch closure. 

His staring eyes, still filled with malice are inches from her own eyes. She realizes that she and Storae’ are covered in his blood.

She is quite sure that she will be demanding replacement of her macabre cargo pants, as well as a thorough detailing of the airlock area from Fulcrum.

She hears a child crying in the distance. Fortunately Sosha had been well away from the horror show in the entry area. She feels the twins, as well as Tole’ shoving the Imperial off of her and pulling Storae’ fully into the ship. She realizes that the ship has righted itself from its angled perch on the cargo carrier’s underside.

Tole’ pulls her into the ship and lifts her up, pulling her into her arms. 

But only for the half instant before her first stomach’s contents empty. She is able to aim for the airlock before the deluge hits.

Leae’ goes to help her as it slows to a trickle. Tole’ stops her, shaking her head.

Just as the next stomach’s contents begins its assault on her ship’s paintwork.

Tole’ smiles sympathetically. She touches the young woman’s neck in sympathy, careful not to touch her lekku. She looks up at her fellow Handmaiden. “May be here awhile. Don’t know how many stomachs she has actually got.” She looks down the corridor.

She shakes her head. “Go make sure Sosha is okay, and Storae’. Hera will contact Fulcrum before we jump.”

Teae’ watches before she leaves as the slightly older woman bends down and takes Hera into her arms.

“You can drive me any day, sweetie,” she whispers into an earcone, as Hera tries to catch her breath.


	12. Fulcrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines coalesce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little longer chapter for the end.
> 
> Thanks to all who have stuck with this.

The Tognath hunter, known as Benthic by his close eggmate, Edrio, and Two-tubes by his comrades in a small but deadly movement, watches the door of the small bar, much as he has for months, now. He waits for the Gungan to slip in for a meeting.

A meeting that will bring bring Binjin Trest into Saw’s movement, once and for all. Free from the interference of those weak, so-called rebels of Fulcrum’s movement.

His eyes narrow as he sees familiar faces come into the establishment. An Imperial commander, her dark features unreadable, walks in with two Naval troopers. Benthic sits up, suddenly tense.

The memory of the brawl between one woman and several of this officer’s command— _no,_ he thinks, _between the woman and the officer._

The troopers had been next to useless in the engagement.

Benthic’s respiratory tubes twitch as recalls his surprise at the Imperials showing up. He had heard the bartender tell another patron that the Imps had never darkened his door before.

Benthic had seen the hard-eyed, muscled young human slip out just as the mêlée began. He had tried to follow, but the fight and the Imps’ agitation had prevented him.

He hears a slight buzzing sound in his audio-piece. He casually touches the outside of one of his tubes.

“Greetings, my eggmate,” comes the voice of Edrio, in their own language.

He mutters a response.

“I know you can’t talk, just listen. Saw says that you may be getting company. Company that will do their damndest to sabotage negotiations. Especially for the item that you have managed to get.”

Benthic fingers the datachip in his pocket, as Edrio continues. “Don’t worry about the cell. Just get the plans for Naboo. We’ll even surrender the ICR to Fulcrum and their lackeys. Just get the plans and get out. Kill the Gungan and the Twi’lek.”

_Might be hard as far as the Twi’lek goes, since I sold her to the local scum-lord. Hope that she is enjoying her new profession._

“Understood,” is all he says in a brief muttered reply. He clicks off.

His eyes light on the Gungan. They widen as he sees the Imperial officer approach Binjin as soon as he walks in. He starts to get up, but feels a blaster in his side. He looks up into the unyielding visage of an Imperial stormtrooper.

His hand moves towards the switch on his explosive packet. A packet that could take out this entire bar—a surprise similar to ones that all of Saw’s people wear. He moves it away, as he realizes only one trooper is beckoning him out of the bar. He raises his hands and follows the trooper.

He face under his respirator morphs into what passes for a smile among his people as the trooper leads him into the back alley.

One hand on the left side of the trooper’s bucket, and one hand on the right lower cowl, a quick twist, and the trooper’s helmet is at an odd angle.

As is his head. Benthic’s expression is pensive as he looks at the dead trooper. He grabs the trooper’s blaster and turns around.

His eyes narrow as he sees two figures standing there, blocking his escape. He starts to say something to the smaller of the hooded figures.

The tallest one waves her hand.

His vision dims from the center. The last thing he sees is the body of the trooper rushing towards his face.

The smaller of the two women turns to the one dropping her hand.

“Most impressive, Fulcrum,” she says, pulling her hood back, revealing the red skin and lekku of a Lethan Twi’lek. “So, now what?”

“I think you may need to go dark for awhile. The Imps are going to be swarming, now. Especially with that officer in charge.”

The Twi’lek, known only by a codename and a nickname, sees her blue eyes soften. “You know her?”

“No. But I once knew her sister. She was a tenacious fighter.” The eyes reflect a rueful grin. “I take that back. I have made her acquaintance, a few days ago while you were lazing around in some crimelord’s mansion as an adornment. We both have the bruises to show for it.”

“You just keep thinking that I was lazing around, sweetie. Did I mention that your little party now has the assets of a small-time smuggling ring, who was starting to branch out into spice and slaves.?”

The taller figure reaches up and touches the smaller on her cheek. “No, you didn’t, but I would hope that you would liquidate those assets, quickly. Especially since you have your own cell.”

“It might be good cover, though. We could use it to disrupt the slaving in this sector.”

Fulcrum smiles. “I like the way you think, Solstice,” she says.

The young woman sees her boss give a thoughtful look.

“I think that it might be a good idea if Fulcrum pays more attention out here.” The blue eyes lance Solstice’s. “Or at least, a Fulcrum.”

After a moment, the import of what the Togruta is saying hits Solstice. “Are you sure about this? You are the Fulcrum.”

She sees the wistful look in the blue eyes over the cowl.

“Yeah. It is something I have been wanting to try. Maybe give the Empire some distraction, looking for Fulcrums all over the place. You and a few others are the ones that I trust above all, Face,” Fulcrum-Prime says. “From what I hear, there might be another up-and-coming young woman of your people that I can add to the list of those I trust. But, I have another job for her. On a mining planet called Gorse.”

“Your first charge is to get your former cell leader out of jail and get him back to his father. I wouldn’t mind having the Boss in my debt, even though he was the one who wanted to get him out of his hair,” she says, “so to speak. Like I said, Sloane won’t be easy.”

The new junior-Fulcrum smiles. “Might not be so hard. Intercepted a message that said she is being promoted to Captain. She has a new occupation, at least temporarily until the permanent asshole returns. Jobbing captain of an ImpStar.”

The young woman without a name reaches down to the Tognath and pulls out the datachip, hands it to her contact. Fulcrum places it in her datapad for a moment, removes it. Face smiles as the woman closes her hand. When she opens it, the data chip is a pile of ash.

“That’s a neat trick. Do you have any other neat tricks? Like some you said you were going to show me before?”

The original Fulcrum rolls her eyes at the suggestive tone, and the pink tongue sticking between the new version’s teeth. “Maybe another time.” She looks away. Face can see a hint of a blush where her skin shows. “I have a date. A date to celebrate a belated name-day.”

Face feels a warm smile flow over her own lips at the soft, longing tone in Fulcrum’s whisper.

They both turn away as they finally hear the cursing voice of Rae Sloane exhorting her troopers to expand the search for the missing trooper.

They leave the Tognath across the trooper’s body. They don’t see him stirring.

Neither are too concerned that he will be captured.

He and Saw had made their bed.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka watches as Hana hugs Sosha to her tightly in the corridor of the small Corellian freighter. She has to look away as she sees the little girl for the first time.

Her heart beats faster and her stomach flips as she sees her eyes for the first time, at the right angle. Eyes that appear green and gold in that perfect light. Eyes that widen as their owner catches sight of her.

As she turns away, she is aware of Hana, the dark gaze, in the identical shape of her daughter’s eyes, looking at her.

As she turns to leave. She feels a tug at the skirt of her tunic. She looks down at the little girl holding her arms up, imploring. She sinks to her knees, feels the arms go around her, careful not to touch her lekku.

She envelops Sosha in her arms. She feels a slightly larger hand gently touching her montral. She looks up at Hana standing over her. She releases Sosha, knowing that a child that age will be impatient.

She feels a wet kiss on her wing marking on her left cheek.

“Morene’, could you take Sosha and see about getting her fed?”

Morene’ smiles, holding out her hand to Sosha. Sosha turns to follow her, taking the proffered hand. Before they leave, Sosha turns and waves to Ahsoka, gifting her with a bright smile.

Ahsoka is able to fight the tears.

Hana reaches over and pulls her into her arms. “Has he told you?” she asks quietly.

Ahsoka gives a brief nod. “Yeah. He told me that you agreed that he would stay away. To keep her isolated from the movement, as well as maintaining the pretense of your marriage.”

Hana takes her chance to look away, unable to meet Ahsoka’s eyes. “Yeah,” is all she says in the softest of voices.

“Not exactly my finest hour,” she finishes.

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I think you both did what you needed to do. For Sosha’s sake. Someday, I hope that he can be a part of his daughter’s life.”

“Someday.”

A big word.

“What about now, Dai-Lin?” Ahsoka asks. “What about Fantos?”

Hana grins. “I think that he might have grown a bit. Don’t know if we will reconcile, but I think he has proven that he can protect and take care of her. That he can make things right.” Her expression darkens. “I just hope he can do a bit better on not doing shit wrong in the first place,” she adds.

Ahsoka is listening, but her mind is parsecs away. She thinks of the father of this little girl. Of what he means to her.

Of what she can never give him. Something that he has had a chance at twice, now.

She feels Hana’s hand on her cheek. “I know that look. It is the same look he gave me. The feeling of something you can never have. In your case, something you can never give someone you love.”

Ahsoka says nothing.

“We talked about you. I can tell what you mean to him, dear. He knows that he is loved—by his entire family.”

Ahsoka smiles crookedly. “I’ll never admit it,” she says.

Hana mirrors her smile. “Don’t have to. I have seen what you mean to him, when he talked about you. Now I see the same thing—what he means to you.”

She gives Ahsoka a quick kiss. “I have to run. May the Force be with you, Fulcrum.”

“And with you, Dai-Lin,” Ahsoka says.

As the woman leaves to board her ship, Ahsoka thinks of what she has. Of the young man and little girl on Shili who calls she and Covenant, ‘hunt-mother’ and hunt-father.’

Of the niece who is the hope of Corellia. Of the young daughter of one of their brothers from Kamino.

Of the many that they both find a way to shape and teach.

To leave a mark on.

Ahsoka smiles to herself as she turns and heads to the small cabin, where a Handmaiden recovers. Where a young captain sits watch, wondering if the responsibility is worth it.

A young captain whose horizons have been broadened, simply for her skill and dedication to an idea.

An idea that she should fight for lives other than her own.

Ahsoka opens the door. Hera sits next to Storae’s bed.

She walks over and puts her hand on Hera’s shoulder. She looks down at the pale face of the Chief Handmaiden. Her chest is covered entirely by bacta-soaked bandages, as is most of her right shoulder. Ahsoka touches her cheek with her other hand.

She looks at Hera and smiles. “She’ll be okay. I have a friend who lost part of her right lung. She is still around, being a pain in my ass whenever she can.

Hera says nothing.

“Hey, Spectre,” Ahsoka says, tapping her on her forehead. “You did a damned good job. I may not have a right to be, but I am very proud of you.”

Hera looks up at her and smiles. “Thank you, Fulcrum,” is all that she says.

“Let me guess. You’re trying to figure out what you could’ve done better. What you could’ve done to keep her from getting hurt.”

After a long moment, Hera nods. “Maybe I am not cut out for this.”

“Bullshit, sweetie,” Fulcrum says. “It’s what makes you entirely cut out for it. What makes you perfect.”

“You don’t sit around navel-gazing at your mistakes,” Hera says pointedly.

Fulcrum snorts. “You obviously don’t know me very well,” she says evenly. “I just call it meditation.”

She rubs her face, as if scrubbing memories away. “It is what sets you apart, Hera, dear,” Fulcrum says. “It keeps you in the light.”

She reaches down, pulls Hera up. She brings her into a tight embrace. “Got your next mission briefing uploaded in your astromech. Keep him under wraps during it. May be your best escape route.

“Okay, Fulcrum.”

“Take care, Spectre,” Fulcrum says, formally. “May the Force be with you.”

As Hera returns the greeting, she is struck by the feeling, a feeling she gets every time she meets Fulcrum, that they had met long before.

In the chaos of war, when Hera was a child, looking up at the sky on a war-torn planet.

Dreaming of the stars.

Dreaming of helping people.

~=~=~=~=~=

Riyo Chuchi approaches the Queen in her throne room with her slicer at her side. She bows before Kylantha. She nudges Ano, who begrudgingly dips her head.

There are no others in the massive room. Kylantha is free from the encumbrance of her ceremonial garb. She stares out at the morning sun, her hand resting on the back of the throne.

She shakes her head and turns. Her grave face brightens as she sees the pair. Kylantha walks over and takes Riyo’s hands in hers. She kisses the Senator.

Her smile fades. “Is it done?”

Riyo smiles. “It is. Sosha is safe, and the data has been recovered.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, Majesty. One cell was compromised by the Empire, apparently. Another to Gerrera’s partisans. The third was salvaged, but reorganized. Apparently the Imperial that Storae’ and her team killed was feathering his own nest.” Riyo looks at Ano. “We discovered a connection with Black Sun. Apparently they have owned him for the last three years.”

Kylantha nods. “I thank you for bringing Fulcrum in. This could’ve been disastrous for Naboo.”

“Disastrous for many, Kylantha,” the Senator says. “Has the former board member been arrested?”

Kylantha looks down. “The Inspectors of Constabulary went to his house. He was dead when they broke in. It looks like a suicide, but we can’t tell anything about this.”

“Convenient,” Riyo says, her golden eyes narrowed.

The Queen’s face grows thunderous, but only for a brief second. She softens. “I am sorry, Riyo. I would rather have gotten to the bottom of this, but it wasn’t to be. We have the data. Fulcrum and her network are safe, for now.”

Riyo nods. She feels her own anger dissipate. Her comm chimes.

She rolls her eyes, but pulls it out and looks at it. She looks at Ano.

“Ano says that there was one file that appeared to have been copied. Just one.”

“Which one?”

Ano starts to text again, but stops at Riyo’s look. She takes a deep breath, looks down and speaks.

“It is strange. It is a file that has blueprints for your Moff’s new residence on one of Naboo’s mining moons. One that isn’t even built.”

Kylantha’s face is expressionless. “Interesting. Don’t know what use that would be. Moff Panaka is a good man,” she says.

Riyo stares at the Queen. _Something._

She shakes her head, prepares to leave.

“Riyo. Would you have dinner with me in my rooms tonight? I could really stand the company.”

The Senator from Pantora smiles. She nods and bows, once again, nudging her slicer.

Kylantha watches her leave. A door opens from the side of the room.

She turns as Fantos Shaizan walks up.

“You heard?”

He nods. “Was this really worth it?” he asks.

Kylantha stares at him. “You have to ask that? You who have already flirted with those who would harm our world?” She slumps onto the throne.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” she says. “Quarsh Panaka is a good man. A former Captain of a Queen’s Guard. One who loves his world, even if he so damned close to Palpatine. If Saw uses these blueprints for anything, we could get a lot worse than him. Especially if we are connected to anything he does.”

Fantos nods. “That is why we gave him blueprints for something that might take many years to come to fruition. One—years to build the new residence, and two—years for Saw to have the resources to strike this far from the Rim.”

“What about your old board member? Is your conscience clear?”

He looks out the window. “He was a greedy bastard, who has probably used murder before, for his own ends. Plus, it really was him cloning my cipher that started this whole thing. He chose his path.”

“Hopefully, this will never come to fruition,” he continues. “I know that you are getting ready to announce that you will stand for election beyond the traditional two terms. Still, by the time Saw might be ready to act, you will probably no longer be Queen. There will be no connection to the new Queen. She will be innocent.”

“I will hold you to that, Fantos, when you are being strapped next to me for the execution droids to do their work for slow termination. When we are both screaming our lives out in pain from the drugs and energy.”

She looks at him. “You are sure that Shaizan has no more cell information for Fulcrum’s network?”

“Yes. The only reason we had those three is because of they were brand new. Their recognition protocols hadn’t been purged after being generated.”

“I guess Saw was able to make use of them, in return for his understanding of the contingent nature of the information we gave him.”

“Not really. Fulcrum was too good for him. He was only able to get one cell turned to him.”

He stops, takes a deep breath. “My Queen, I am worried about Hana and Sosha. The information network has been purged, except for one copy that she has made safe with Riyo’s slicer. Outside of Shaizan’s systems. I am sure she will continue to gather information, though.”

Kylantha smiles a secret smile at him. “Don’t worry. I am very certain that they will be safe. Fulcrum will protect them.

_She has a reason to. But you will never find that reason from me._

~=~=~=~=~=

Lassa Rhayme surveys her assembled crew. Her Quartermaster, the rebel known by many names, but not to the galaxy at large, stands next to her, watching quietly.

Fulcrum. Ahsoka Tano. Jana Roshti.

 _Pain-in-the-ass_ , to several of her erstwhile family. Including her.

Lassa thinks back to the last few days. Of her discovery that even rebels are willing to go to extremes for their cause. Extremes, that coupled with the extremes of the other side, could crush both her and her crew— _no, her family_ between them.

She smiles at the young woman, standing steadily next to her, their shoulders touching. Barely a quarter-century old, but with the fate of billions on her shoulders, with every move she makes.

A young woman who remains steadfast in the light, with occasional forays into doing what must be done.

Forays that Lassa knows costs her every moment, as she has listened to her dream and talk in her sleep. Along with another.

“So, the vote is unanimous.”

Ahsoka smiles at her. “As of now, you have a new rebel cell. We’ll monitor Saw and his group for you, for now. Doesn’t mean that we won’t keep pirating and spreading mayhem and chaos. Just to keep our hand in, and to keep my crew in food and luxury, and me in Tevraki whisky.”

She pulls Ahsoka close to her. Her next words are not for the crew’s consumption.

“So I can occasionally keep Fulcrum’s pants dropping on the floor.”

Ahsoka returns the embrace, squeezing her until her sides ache. “You make it sound like I am easy.”

“You are. Just not cheap.”

The crew is treated to their laughter, mixed in no small part with a tiny bit of tears.

~=~=~=~=~=

Captain Cantos Lardai stands at attention, her injured arm held stiffly. For once, she is in full uniform, everything correct and creased, rather than her commando’s mixed bag.

She stares at a point behind Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin’s head.

“So your traitorous assistant has been eliminated?”

“Yes, Governor,” she says.

“Well, that is one point in your favor, Lardai. Give me one good reason why you are not tied to a post, right now, if you please.”

“I believe that we have an opportunity to roll up cells. We were able to roll one of them up, with ease. Agent Kallus did good work.”

“You were lucky that only one reserve was hit, Captain.”

She says nothing, waits for the ax to fall.

Somehow, his cadaverous face softens. “Very well. You are charged with gathering intelligence to build data on this mysterious network. You will have your Operation Windfall revenue squadron, as well as a Stardestroyer at your disposal. Director Isard will provide you with further assets, as well as supervision.

Tarkin nods. “Dismissed, Rear-Admiral Lardai.”

As she leaves the room, she thinks of another, who had commanded Operation Windfall before her.

She shakes her head, dispelling her ghosts. She smiles as she thinks of the riches and power she will gain, when she goes to Prince Xizor and offers herself as a replacement for Adede.

To claim her rightful place in Black Sun. After all, that other—her predecessor—had eventually been a member in good standing.

She stops, closes her eyes, squeezing them tight as she remembers her ghosts.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka screams as the light blossoms behind her eyelids. She splays her hands on her hunter’s back, curling her fingers to trace the lines of his muscles.

A stray thought moves through the edges of her consciousness as her explosion builds again.

His back is one of the few places where he bears no scars.

Except for the temporary ones that she had inflicted.

Her mind flows back to concentrating on the taste of the skin under her lips, as she realizes that her teeth are locked on his unscarred left shoulder.

She gasps as the sensation of his much blunter teeth closing over her left lek triggers her second explosion.

Light, taste, smell, chase each other through some part of her mind as it tumbles through space and time. As the softness of his kiss brings her back to the present again.

The sensation of warmth, centered between her legs, touches her mind with the hint of bittersweet, as she recalls her conversation with Hana.

She shakes her head to dispel that. She brings a contented smile on her face, as they both turn on their sides, facing each other. Still connected.

As they both calm, their breathing still synced, but slower, she feels his hands on her cheek, his thumb stroking the fading bruises under her eye, his warm gaze spiking with concern.

She kisses him again, allowing her eyes to focus on those emerald-gold portals. As she always does when they kiss.

The bittersweet returns as she remembers the brief glimpse in slightly different eyes of that same gaze. A gaze filled with warmth, curiosity, snark— _oh, yes, plenty of that_ —and no small amount of love.

Eyes still free of the pain present in these versions.

She feels his fingers on her chin, as she realize that her own eyes have tracked downward again.

“Hey,” he says.

She completes the ritual. “Hey, yourself.”

“What’s up?” He taps her on the forehead with his fingers. “What’s going on behind those sad eyes?”

She smiles. “Nothing but a bit of rain. Nothing that just being right here, right now, won’t send away.” She snuggles closer to him.

He pulls her tighter to him. As he does, she sees the grimace of pain flash over his features, as he moves his ruined right shoulder.

A ruin inflicted on him eight years ago, almost to the day. When their kind had died.

She manages to keep any hint of distress from her body. A crimson-skinned little convor had told her that he had started a course of bi-weekly bacta injections to deal with the pain in his shoulder.

He lifts her hand from his shoulder. “I’m okay, _cyar’ika_ ,” he says. “Just a little pain. What is it that is causing that expression on your face?”

She takes a deep breath. “I met Sosha, Jame,” she says, using his birth name. “I met your daughter.”

She feels him stiffen, then immediately relax. He is quiet for a moment. “What is she like?” he asks, in a soft voice.

“She is beautiful,” she says. She allows a Smirk to blossom on her features. “She probably gets that from her mother.”

The next sound in her voice is indescribable even to her, as his hips move against hers in a quick, gentle, tortuous flex.

“Asshole,” she gasps, softening her words with a gentle lick of his collarbone.

They both settle in each other’s arms. “So let me guess. You are feeling like you can’t give me something—something that Hana could?”

“No, I—.” She falls silent. “How did you get so wise?” she asks.

“I’m smarter than I look,” he says.

She feels his smile against her forehead. He suddenly seizes her tightly. His lips move to her lek. She feels the vibration up to her montrals.

“I am only going to say this once, Runt. I have all that I want right here, in my arms. I have all that I want on Corellia; on this ship. Even on that damned pirate ship that just left us.” He stops for a moment. He brings her hand to his chest. She feels the heart beating strong. “I have a son, forever locked in here. No one can ever take him away, just like his mother. Just like my Master and the others.”

For once, Ahsoka Tano cannot speak her mantra that has ruled her life, since she had walked down a set of stone stairs, as the tears spill freely from her eyes.

He allows her time to recover. He switches to business.

“Speaking of Corellia, I have something I have been tracking over the last couple of years.”

She wipes her eyes, allowing him his own respite from the raw emotions. “What?”

“Just little hints. I get finished with a job,” he says, ignoring the Smirk at the euphemism, “and I get a nagging feeling that somebody has been there before me. That I am a step slow.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Don’t know. Just a feeling. Nothing sabotaged, just a feeling like things could’ve gone smoother if somebody wasn’t playing silly buggers with what I was doing.”

“I have been having Phygus look into cipher traffic on the Holonet and the Darknet to see what might pop up.”

“What did you have to promise him? A look at my boobs?” she asks, the familiar expression appearing.

“No. I figure you will get around to showing him, once he kicks your ass in that damned prank war you two seem to still be carrying out.”

“Fat chance, Bait,” she says, giving her own growl-inducing shift of her hips.

“What has he found?” she asks, once the scuffling has abated.

Although, the blood flow to certain areas doesn’t.

“One word that keeps popping up after this feeling. The timing is more than coincidental.”

He stops, as if struggling with whether to tell her. She passes the time by running her tongue over his chest.

He sighs. “Myriddin.”

She stops, perplexed at the word.

“It is Old High Corellian,” he says. “A language reserved in ancient times for the Covenants and their Rangers.”

“What does it mean?”

“The thing on which a lever is supported—on which it pivots. Or a person or thing that plays an essential role in an event,” he says, as if reciting a dictionary definition.

She sits up suddenly, realization and fear on her beautiful features.

He gently pulls her back down. He kisses her, distracting from her translation from the ancient language of the holders of his title on his world to Basic.

She allows him to maneuver her where she rests on top of him.

The word flashes in her mind, as she feels other sensations rise.

A word that has been at the fore in her mind for seven years.

_Fulcrum._


End file.
